The Life You Save
by wobbear
Summary: The life you save may be your own. Or a puppy's. Continuation fic, set in April 1926. Chelsie/Carson focus, but almost an ensemble piece: many others also appear in cameo or larger roles. EPILOGUE now posted.
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: This fic takes place over the course of eight days, from Monday 19th April, 1926 to the next Tuesday. This first chapter is a little more angsty than the rest.**

 **Apologies to Flannery O'Connor—I borrowed from the title of her short story "The Life you Save May Be Your Own."**

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Monday, 19th April, 1926

"It's still strange, looking back. They didn't know what to make of me." Tom Branson stared unseeing as memories swirled. "But their beloved youngest daughter was suddenly gone, and even if the only thing they saw in my favour was that I'd fathered their first grandchild, they knew Sybil had loved me, and … somehow, we muddled through to where we are now." He shook his head, grinning faintly, as if even now he didn't quite believe it, and drank a long draught from his pint glass.

Tom looked across the small pub table and focused fully on Henry Talbot, his brother in law and new business partner. Henry had been uncharacteristically quiet as Tom wandered down memory lane, and he simply crinkled his eyes in a silent smile of support as Tom regarded him.

"That's the short version, anyway. I've got to be heading to Downton. Mary and I have a meeting with a man about some sheep." He grinned broadly this time, comfortable in his own skin, and raised his glass, tilting it towards Henry.

"I've got to get going too, back to the shop," said Henry, taking several mouthfuls in quick succession to finish off his shepherd's pie. "But—" He held up his hand asking Tom to wait until he could speak properly.

Tom waited patiently. He was a fast eater and was accustomed to his brother-in-law's ways by now.

Before long Henry was done and he raised his beer with a flourish, nodding for Tom to follow suit. "Let us toast, just one more time," his blue eyes bright with delight. Tom joined in, "To Talbot and Branson Motors' first sale!"

Setting down his now empty glass, Tom stood up decisively. "Alright, I'm off. See you at dinner."

Henry nodded, drinking the last of his beer as he watched Tom walk out the back door. The Rose & Crown pub was around the corner from their business and both gave onto a service alley at the rear, where Tom and Henry parked their own cars.

Henry stood up, stacking their plates and taking them with the empty glasses to the end of the bar. As he bid farewell to the landlord, he was surprised to see Tom coming back in, a question on his face and a puppy in his arms.

"Mr Botham, d'you know anything about this little chap? He was curled up in a sunny corner of your yard."

"Only the one? There's two more around somewhere, and their mother …" Botham frowned, shaking his head. "I haven't seen their mother for a couple of days."

As Tom stroked the puppy's head, the landlord continued, "She's a stray, my cellar man has been feeding her scraps." He smiled ruefully. "We all have really, for months, and she gave birth to them in our storage shed out the back there. It's no place for them to live, but my wife won't have them in the flat upstairs." He explained, "Mrs Botham got bitten by a dog when she was a young'un, scarred for life, and can't abide being near dogs. I understand, I do, but Lassie's such a sweetie, wouldn't hurt a—"

"Lassie?" asked Henry, as the puppy extended his neck out so Henry could better scratch beneath his chin.

Botham shrugged. "We had to call her something. She's a black lab mixed with something else, more slender than a true Labrador, with just a touch of white on her right front paw. That pup," He pointed at the furry bundle in Tom's arms, "is her spitting image." He sighed. "I fear she's been hit by one of those maniacs who think they're racing car drivers," he paused, looking uncertainly at Henry. "Begging your pardon, sir—"

Henry interrupted, waving the man's concern away. "No, I know exactly what you mean. Forty miles an hour in these city streets is madness."

Botham continued, "I haven't found her … ah … seen any sign of her … but she may have dragged herself, injured, into another yard, another alley."

And died. He didn't say it, but they were all thinking it.

Henry looked at Tom.

Botham sighed again. "And the pups are missing her. They're weaned, so they're not starving, but I don't know what to do. I can't keep them here."

Tom looked at Henry.

Suddenly Henry sprang into action. "We have to find the other two. Mr Botham, do you have a box we could use? They can't have gone far, can they?"

Botham replied, "No, they don't usually venture out into the alley. They're likely hiding amongst the empty crates."

§ § § § § § § § §

A short while later, Henry was attempting to brush off his trousers and realizing they needed more attention than his bare hands could provide. He'd had to stretch out flat on the grimy cobblestones, reaching carefully in and around the slats of the empty wooden bottle crates to retrieve the puppies. As he rolled down his shirt sleeves and re-buttoned the cuffs, he watched Tom crouching over a sturdy carton that used to hold whisky bottles. Botham had donated an old towel for padding, and the puppies were now cuddled safely together.

Henry strolled over to peer into the carton and Tom stood up, looking quizzically at him. "So, do you have a plan beyond putting them all in a comfy box?"

Henry laughed, tossing back his head. "You're the practical one, Tom, what do you suggest?"

"Well, I'll take them back with me and, I suppose, find a temporary home for them." Tom raised his eyebrows, adding, "After all, we're real second hand car dealers now, how hard can it be?"

"That's the spirit!" While Tom climbed into the driver's seat, Henry picked up the precious cargo and gently settled the carton on the passenger side. He made sure to latch the door then patted it for good measure.

§ § § § § § § § §

After meeting with Mr Robson at Willow Tree Farm to find out how the lambing was going, Tom drove Mary back to the big house. He dropped her off at the front door, then drove around the back to the garages. From there he went in the back door, into the servants' domain. Formerly his world too.

The early evening kitchen bustle was in full swing, but as he'd hoped, the housekeeper was in her room. Mrs Carson, as he insisted on addressing her. He didn't see why the others seemed to find her name change so hard to handle. With an eye to her approaching retirement, she was gradually training up Miss Baxter, but Mrs Carson was still in charge for now. He'd been trying to get her to call him Tom, with only limited success thus far.

The housekeeper looked up from her accounts ledger when Tom knocked on her partly open door. Her eyes brightened, in fact her whole face lit up, at the sight of him shouldering the door open, clutching a whisky carton close to his chest. The young man had a special place in her heart. "Mr Bran—" she stopped, finger in the air, and corrected herself. "Tom," she emphasized. "What's all this then? You're not going into the liquor trade now, as well as cars, are you?" The smile evident in her voice, she continued, "you need to talk to Mr Barrow, not me, if you're trying to flog some whisky."

"No, not at all. I'm not 'flogging', as you say, anything. I'm here, as usual, for your wise counsel."

"You flatterer," she bantered. "You take the Irishman out of Ireland, but you canna tek the blarney out of the Irishman." Somehow, these days when she talked with Tom Branson, her Scottish accent always became a wee bit thicker.

He bent down, putting the whisky carton on the floor, then straightened up and stood back, giving Elsie a clear view of the contents. She leaned forward, hands on her thighs, then rose and hurried over to crouch beside the box. "Oh, the poor wee dears!" She looked up at Tom. "Where are they from?" For all she knew, they could have been abandoned somewhere on the estate. Whether the person responsible was ignorant or intentionally cruel, the end result was often the same.

"Our local, in York. They're strays, really. The people at the pub have been looking out for them, except now their mother's gone missing and the landlord can't keep them."

"Oh, the poor wee dears." Mrs Carson knew she was repeating herself, but she'd had a soft spot for puppies ever since growing up on the croft in Argyll. Her father, a stern and taciturn Scot, always tried to keep his daughters from coddling the sheepdogs and their pups—"they're not house pets, they have to work for their living" was a common refrain of his—but she'd seen him sneaking them table scraps and fondling their velvety ears. She'd inherited the warm heart for animals her father had striven to hide, however she was a lot less reluctant than he to show her true colors. Tom Branson knew her nature. It was not by chance he had brought the puppies to Mrs Carson.

Tom knew he had her on the hook, and it was time to start reeling her in. That sounded more calculated than it really was: he had tried other places before coming back to the big house, but felt secure in the knowledge that if they didn't pan out, Mrs Carson would not fail him. No matter what fate threw at her, she always managed to find solutions.

"I thought Mr Robson at Willow Tree would be able to take them on, but he's had a ewe die giving birth and three sets of triplets born as well as several pairs of twins, so they have their hands full caring for all those tiny lambs." Mrs Carson understood, he could see. "In fact I'm going back after dinner to help him out. His wife is away looking after her sick mother and his labourer broke his leg last week. Anyway, then I thought of Mr Mason. Although he's a pig specialist, he has a heart as soft as a Scottish summer day is long." Maybe the blarney was working a little overtime, but Tom didn't feel he was exaggerating—at least not much.

Mrs Carson decided not to tease him and simply nodded, saying, "I have no doubt he would care for them well, and gladly, but he's off with Mrs Patmore, visiting her sister." Mrs Carson had a distinct feeling the cook and the pig farmer would come back from that visit engaged to be married; she had read the signs and knew that Mr Mason, unlike her husband, was a man of action. Love him dearly though she did, Elsie was sure there were glaciers that moved faster than Charlie Carson had in his personal life.

Tom put his hands into his trouser pockets and waited while Mrs Carson worked through the options.

"Well, they can't stay in the house. Only the family's animals are permitted." Quite apart from that rule, she didn't relish the prospect of leaving unhousetrained pups overnight in her room. And with all the comings and goings downstairs during the long working day, they would likely get underfoot, which simply would not do.

"What about the tack room in the stables? That can be secured so they'll be safe." Elsie looked up, hopeful she'd solved the immediate problem.

"Good idea, but it's in the midst of being repaired and repainted after the incident with Spirit, so it's not usable." Spirit was Lady Mary's horse. He had decided he didn't want to have his shoes replaced, and kicked out violently to make the point. Fortunately he'd hit the fairly flimsy wall of the tack room rather than the farrier, and equally fortunately Spirit hadn't injured himself.

"Ah, yes … And the laundry's not possible. I can't bring myself to go in there until the drains are fixed, so we can't put these wee ones in there." They were having to send out the washing to a woman in the village until the plumbing was put to rights; something in the pipes was making the laundry room smell like a fetid swamp.

Mrs Carson thought some more, then looked up at Tom. The glint in her eye told him she'd settled on a satisfactory solution.

TBC

* * *

 **a/n: This is set in late April 1926, because it had to be spring. I'd like to think, however, it wouldn't have taken several months for Talbot and Branson Motors to make their first sale.**

 **As you see, Tom Branson and I like to call Elsie by her married name, but some people will still call her "Mrs Hughes" in the fic, because, well, they do.**

 **Never fear, Carson fans! He features majorly in the next chapter.**


	2. Chapter 2

**In this chapter: Thomas Barrow, Sybbie Branson, Charles Carson, Cora Crawley, George Crawley, Robert Crawley, Charles Carson, Richard Clarkson and Mary Talbot.**

 **a/n: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter or followed this fic. It's great to be welcomed into this wonderful fandom. Guest reviewers, sorry I couldn't respond directly to you, but I loved your comments. I'm glad people liked the Tom/Elsie interaction—I always thought they went well together. They and Henry will appear again later, but this chapter concentrates on Carson and as well as others he comes across.**

 **I'm posting this second chapter to help you to get into the fic, and plan to post updates weekly (at least, may be more frequently) hereafter.**

* * *

Wednesday, 21st April, 1926

"Mummy, Mummy, Mr Carson has puppies!" George came barreling into the library for the children's visiting hour and came to an abrupt halt in front of Mr Barrow's outstretched hand. The butler bent over and spoke quietly to the little boy, "Now Master George, what's the rule about running?"

George dutifully recited, "No running inside, and running outside only with permission."

"That's right. So now _walk_ to your mother and you can tell her your news."

Close on George's heels was Sybbie, who had observed the scene from just inside the library door. She proceeded sedately past Mr Barrow then skipped the last two steps to the Knole sofas by the fireplace, where Lady Mary and the children's grandparents were gathered. Mr Barrow tried to look sternly at her, but his eyes twinkled at the sight of Sybbie trying to hide her cheeky grin behind her hand.

Lady Mary crouched down to her son's level and put her hand onto his shoulder, steadying him. "Just a moment, George, I have to tell Sybbie something." He pouted a little, but held his tongue.

"Sybbie, your Daddy asked me to tell you he's sorry he's not here to see you now, but he was up all night helping Mr Robson feed lots of tiny lambs and he's sleeping now." Sybbie nodded, her big blue eyes solemn. "But he promises that he'll be awake in time to tuck you in, and to read your bedtime story. He wanted me to be sure to tell you that. Alright?"

Sybbie smiled happily, secure in the knowledge that her father would do as he promised, and in his absence snuggled up to her Donk instead.

George had been remarkably patient, but now tugged his mother's sleeve to get her attention. "Mummy!" George was almost bursting with his news and just had to tell it.

"Georgie, did I hear you say 'Mr Carson' and 'puppies'? That seems very unlikely!"

"Yes, he has puppies!" Then he had to pause to count on his fingers, checking. He looked up at his mother and earnestly announced, "Three!"

This was not actually news to Mary, as she'd heard all about it from Henry, but in recent months she had learned a few things about not stealing others' thunder and her son was reaping the benefit today.

Sybbie chimed in. "There's a black one with a tiny white sock on his paw," she pointed to her right hand. "And there's one that Mr Carson says is rusty red, and it's fluffy! And there's one that's white and black and tan, all patchy."

Mary saw her father's eyebrows rise at this description. It seemed that the pups' mother had been serviced by several males in a short space of time.

"And you say Mr Carson has these puppies?" asked Lord Grantham. He knew Carson had been wonderful with the girls when they were little, but puppies? Although Carson did have quite recent experience with Tio, come to think of it. Lord Grantham had found himself compelled by … certain circumstances … to swear to Carson he wouldn't bring an un-housetrained dog into the library ever again. Fortunately Tio now knew to go outside to do her business.

"Yes, Donk, and Mrs Carson. And we gave them names too!"

Lord Grantham sighed; he hoped the pups had fared better in the naming department than he had. Unfortunately George had learned his "Donk" name from Sybbie.

George continued, "He's looking after them because their mother went away and they can't live in the pub." While correct, George's explanation was lacking in some useful detail.

"The Grantham Arms?" asked his grandmother.

Seeing Lord and Lady Grantham's confusion, Barrow stepped forward saying, "Perhaps I can assist, my lady. Master George and Miss Sybbie, may I tell everyone about when we met the puppies?"

The children nodded their agreement vigorously. They knew Mr Barrow was a good story teller and would be able to do the exciting tale justice. Mary sat down beside her mother and George leaned against her legs.

Thursday, 22nd April, 1926

"Barrow, I'm driving down to the village to collect Lady Grantham, so please tell anyone who might be looking for me."

"Very good, my lord."

As he walked out the front door, Lord Grantham put on the fedora proffered by Mr Barrow. Cora had walked down to the village earlier for a hospital meeting, intending to return on foot as well, but it was looking like rain and he still enjoyed the relative novelty of being able to drive himself. He would go and surprise her with a lift home.

He was nearing the Downton Cottage Hospital when he caught sight of—could it be?—his bowler-hatted former butler carefully shepherding three rather roly poly puppies past the war memorial. One black, one fluffy and the canine version of red, one white with tan and black patches, all wandering at their own whims and entwining their leashes to Carson's ill-concealed consternation.

Stopping the car, Lord Grantham wound down the window and called, "Carson, good afternoon! I heard that you were looking after some pups, but seeing really is believing." He climbed out and walked the few steps towards the little group, face beaming in a broad grin, while Carson made an abortive attempt to doff his hat. Both hands occupied with leashes, he had to settle for what he hoped was a dignified nod. It was difficult to maintain his decorum with the puppies gambolling playfully about him.

"Good afternoon, my lord. What brings you to the village?"

"Oh, Lady Grantham, hospital meeting, rain coming." Lord Grantham hurried through his answer giving only the most basic details. He wanted to meet the puppies! "And who are these little fellows?" He crouched as he spoke, and the pups gathered around him, competing for his attention. The black one got solid pats on its sides, the multi-colored one's head got stroked and the fluffy red one jumped about getting petted anytime it was near an available hand.

Carson shifted uneasily on his feet. "Well, my lord, they don't have names, as such. We're not keeping any of them, just looking after them until they can find proper homes." He did have makeshift names for them—you had to call them _something_ , after all—but they weren't ones he cared to share. Too prosaic to tell his lordship, who named all his dogs after Ancient Egyptian royal personages. They sounded like they had been chosen by small children, because they had.

Why hadn't he insisted on giving their names more thought? If he'd settled on attractive appellations, they might help "sell" the pups to potential new owners. Instead they had very simple, obvious names, each ending with a juvenile "ee" sound. In his defense, he had been very charmed by the Crawley grandchildren's enthusiasm. Names that sounded passably acceptable to Carson in the company of excited children absolutely did not when he was faced with revealing them to Lord Grantham. Even if the children concerned were the earl's own grandchildren.

"But surely you don't just refer to them as 'the black one' and so on?"

Carson cleared his throat. He might as well get it over with. "My lord, you're not far off. We refer to them as Blackie, Rusty and Patchy." He didn't bother to indicate which name went with which dog. "Sometimes the little girl is 'Patch' for short." Yes, that made her name sound so much more refined. Not. Carson braced himself for Lord Grantham's response. He wouldn't be unkind to Carson's face, but what must he be thinking?

"Better than "Donk," lucky things. So you're the only girl then, Patchy? With that gorgeous tan patch over your left eye, and the white tip to your tail, aren't you lovely?" The puppy put her front paws onto Lord Grantham's knee and licked his nose as soon as it came within range. "I see something hound-like in her, or very possibly beagle, don't you think, Carson?"

Carson relaxed, rocking back onto his heels in relief. "It seems likely, yes."

Lord Grantham studied Rusty as best he could. The longer-hair pup really was very bouncy. "And this one: Irish setter, or maybe the red end of the golden retriever range."

"Indeed my lord. I understand setters can be quite lively. They all have their moments, though. Rusty's the most animated at the moment, but later one or both of the others will liven up, I'm sure."

"Quite a variety for one litter," remarked Lord Grantham. "Do you know what their mother looked like?"

"Mr Branson said he'd been told she looked like a black labrador, although more slender, with a small patch of white on her right paw, just like ..." He supposed he should just say the dozy name, "Blackie here."

Lord Grantham gently stroked the black puppy's floppy ears, and the pup leaned into his hand. Both men looked up as a peal of thunder rolled nearby. The sky had darkened even as they had been talking. "Carson, let me give you—all—a lift back to your cottage. The rain is coming soon and it must be at least half an hour's walk with your small charges."

"Thank you my lord, that's a very kind offer, but I must decline." Carson had cleaned up enough after the trio in the last few days; he absolutely did not want a puppy "accident" in his lordship's car. "We should be going." He shifted Rusty's leash to the hand that held the other two and lifted his hat in farewell.

"Don't be sill—" started Lord Grantham.

"Robert, Carson, what a pleasant surprise!" Lady Grantham's voice rang out from across the road. Dr Clarkson was seeing her out of the hospital, through the wooden gate that led from hospital courtyard to the street, and they strolled together over to the edge of the green, where the puppies were investigating the grass.

"I saw the clouds gathering and thought I'd give you a lift back." Lord Grantham gestured to Carson, who raised his hat to greet the newcomers. "I met Carson and the famous puppies here, and I'm trying to persuade him to avoid the rain by accepting a ride home."

"So good to see you, Carson." Lady Grantham clasped Carson's forearm in greeting, unthinkable contact mere months before, but it somehow seemed natural now, _right_. She bent over to examine the pups and said, "So these are the precious puppies. The children, I mean grandchildren, have been talking of nothing else since they met them." She smiled sweetly, but did not mask her determination. "Of course you must come with us, Carson. I won't brook refusal."

Carson steeled himself. Lady Grantham had a quick mind and often disarmed him with logic. It was strange, reflected Carson, that he had only now realized the similarities between Lady Grantham and his own dear wife.

As Carson marshalled his wits to reply, Cora noticed he had looped the leashes over his wrists, presumably to guard against any palsy problems.

"But, my lady," he began. Even as he said this he knew the battle was already lost. He had very rarely triumphed in verbal tussles with her ladyship, and especially not when he started his argument with a pathetic "but." Nevertheless, he felt duty-bound to try. "My lady," he began again, "the puppies are not yet _trained_ , they've only recently arrived from a bleak life in the back alleys of York." He frowned, his eyebrows forming a wide furry 'V.' "We can't have them messing up this fine motorcar."

"Carson, Lord Grantham and I are familiar with the proclivities of puppies, and," she paused here for effect, "we're fine with them." Walking over to the car, she opened the front passenger door and dug around for a moment. "Look, I found this ancient blanket under the seat. We can spread it out on the floor and it will protect against any … let's call them ... indiscretions." She proceeded to open the back door and shake out the blanket.

So that was that. Carson caved, and politely agreed that yes, the blanket should work. He helped spread it in the back of the car, having handed the leashes to Lord Grantham.

Meanwhile, Lord Grantham and Dr Clarkson had been entertaining the puppies, and themselves. Dr Clarkson was now holding Blackie and commenting, "It really is quite uncanny. He looks remarkably like a dog I had as a lad." The puppy snuggled his head into the crook of the doctor's neck as Clarkson gently patted the black back. "Mr Carson, I heard from Lady Merton that you'd been kind enough to foster these little ones. I gather you're seeking homes for them?"

"Well, Dr Clarkson, they do need homes, but I haven't done much seeking as yet. Mr Branson got them treated for worms and such by Mr Stapley, and Mrs Carson and I are getting them used to living in a home. They're doing well, they're young and eager to please, but it's early days yet."

Lord Grantham was so distracted by the new puppies that he was neglecting the conversation. His wife stepped in. "Of course you've had experience with the dogs in the house over the years, Carson, and you've always been good with them, but did you have a dog, or know dogs, as a child?"

"We had a family dog when I was a boy, my lady, and Mrs Carson grew up with sheepdogs."

"You know," Dr Clarkson said, "I've always had in mind to get a dog once I retire. I'm too busy to care for one properly while I'm working." Despite his words, the doctor was evidently charmed by the puppy in his arms.

It was Lady Grantham's turn to be perturbed. "Dr Clarkson, please tell me you're not thinking of retiring?!"

"No, well, yes, Lady Grantham. I've no immediate plans to retire, but I don't wish to die 'in harness' if I can help it. I'm not getting any younger after all, but never fear, I do aim to give you ample warning."

A sudden waft of cooler air carried the smell of rain to the group gathered on the village green.

"You should get on your way before the deluge." Ever the practical Scot, Dr Clarkson opened the car's back door for Lady Grantham and gestured towards it encouragingly. She climbed in with alacrity and settled herself in the back seat.

Suddenly Carson remembered his plans. "My lord, I'll come with you to the house, if I may. I'm expected for downstairs afternoon tea."

"Fine, that's even easier."

Instinct honed by years of habit made Carson want to sit in the front, with the driver. But this driver was Lord Grantham, not an experienced chauffeur, and he didn't need the distraction of three wriggly little dogs. On the other hand, the blanket was spread ready in the back and he couldn't expect Lady Grantham to look after the three puppies by herself.

Lady Grantham saw him dithering as fat drops of rain began to fall. She leaned forward and beckoned him into the back, exasperated. "Carson, please just get in!"

Lightning forked across the sky, now an ominous leaden grey, and the puppies whimpered in fear as the thunder crashed directly overhead. Galvanized into action, Carson picked up Patchy and climbed into the car. Lord Grantham passed a trembling Rusty to him then got into the driver's seat. Dr Clarkson handed Blackie into Lady Grantham's outstretched arms and shut the door.

Clarkson stood in the scant shelter offered by the hospital's entry way and watched as the car headed off towards the Abbey. The rain grew heavier, so hard it was bouncing off the paving stones, yet he remained there until the vehicle was long out of sight. Head tilted to the side and eyes pensive, he didn't notice he was getting wet.

Suddenly he shook himself, noticed with astonishment that his trousers were soaked nearly to the knees, and hurried inside the hospital.

TBC

 **a/n This was a bit longer than I'd intended, but I didn't want to break the chapter earlier. What did you think?**


	3. Chapter 3

**In this chapter: Thomas Barrow, Anna Bates, John Bates, Tom Branson, Charles Carson, Elsie Hughes/Carson, [Richard Clarkson,], Cora Crawley, Robert Crawley, Albert Mason, Daisy Mason, Andy Parker, Beryl Patmore, Henry Talbot and Mary Talbot.**

 **A/n: Copious author notes at the end. Enjoy!**

* * *

Thursday, 22 April, 1926

Carson felt a little disconcerted. He'd no sooner been dropped off at the kitchen courtyard by his noble chauffeur, and ventured in through the back door, than Mr Barrow had greeted him with the news that he had a telephone call and could take it in the butler's pantry. Mr Barrow carefully took charge of the litter's leashes and stood back, indicating the way with his hand. The gesture was superfluous, both knew, but it was a courtesy from the current incumbent to his predecessor, and gracefully accepted as such.

"Yes, that's right. From the pub Mr Talbot and Mr Branson frequent, I-I mean near their motorcar business, in York."

"About ten to twelve weeks, three months or thereabouts, according to the veterinary, ah, veterinarian."

"A sort of … right of first refusal, as it were?"

"No, no, that's fine. As I said, we haven't started—"

"Indeed, a scullery should be very suitable. Somewhere without soft furnishings in any case." Carson cleared his throat; he need say no more on that subject.

"So, you'll let me know once you've had a chance to speak to them, then."

"Yes, until then. I bid you a very good evening, Doctor."

He hung the receiver back on the switch hook, took a deep breath and looked around his former office. The butler's pantry looked much the same, and Mr Barrow certainly kept it tidy. Carson was surprised to feel no pangs of loss or nostalgia. Perhaps that's what happens when you have a loving and beloved wife, and are starting to realize there's life outside of work, he mused. He smiled to himself, enjoying the sense of contentment even as his right hand trembled, and headed back to join Elsie in the housekeeper's sitting room.

§ § § § § § § § §

As more of the staff came downstairs, Mrs Carson's room became very crowded, so the puppy fest de-camped to the servants' hall.

"Oh, yes, they're very sweet, but puppies are a handful you know, Miss Baxter." Mrs Carson's tender regard for the little dogs softened her caveat. "Mr Carson has been run nearly ragged looking after them, but he seems to be enjoying it. Really, he's managing them very well, and it's good for him to feel so useful."

Mr Bates was leaning against the wall, out of the fray, watching. "Anna, what do you think about us getting a puppy, when Billy is a bit older? It'd be nice for him to grow up with a pet."

"I think William John Bates' parents work hours which are not conducive to having a puppy. And his mother is nowhere near being ready to think about getting one. Billy's not yet four months old!" Anna reflected for a moment, then mused, "But a kitten might be possible." She quickly added, "Maybe, that is. And not yet."

Bates smiled quietly at his wife and kept his own counsel. There'd be time enough to revisit the idea another day.

"Mr Mason's been talking about getting a dog, hasn't he, Daisy?" Andy sounded like he was keen himself. "Which one do you think?"

"There may be a taker for Blackie, so I suggest you choose from the other two." Mr Carson's rumbling bass cut through the chatter and everyone moved to greet him.

Soon Daisy brought in tea and Mr Carson's favorites, treacle tart and Yorkshire Brack. Afternoon tea proceeded in a very informal fashion, the puppies getting the lion's share of attention from all present.

Noises off heralded someone coming in the back door, and soon the distinctive pitch of Mrs Patmore's voice was heard, accompanied by much quieter, more measured tones.

§ § § § § § § § §

"Well, I'm tempted, I don't mind admitting, very tempted, however we'd need to see how she does wi' the pigs." Mr Mason was eager, everyone could see, but knew he had to be practical about this. "She'd be no good if she's scared of them, or chases the pigs like a mad thing. Mr Carson, if you wouldn't mind, would you be able to bring her over to the farm, at your convenience of course, to see how she gets on?"

"My schedule is wide open," said Mr Carson, smirking faintly. "Except for Wednesday afternoons."

"Why not come Monday afternoon, for tea?" suggested Mrs Patmore. She belatedly looked at Mr Mason and thought to ask, "That's alright, isn't it, Albert? It's my half day, I can come and help."

"Aye, that'd be champion, Beryl. Monday afternoon then, Mr Carson?"

Carson inclined his head in agreement, adding, "We'll see you then, then."

Mr Carson turned to his wife, who was laughing as she chatted with Anna, and was confronted with two mirthful faces. His magnificent eyebrows joined as he furrowed his brow in silent question.

"'My schedule is wide open', indeed!" Mrs Carson teased. "I saw that smirk! Where on earth did you come across that phrase?"

Feigning indignance, he replied haughtily, "I do read."

"That sounds somehow American to me," commented Anna, pondering. Suddenly she smiled, sure she had it. "Lady Rose and Mr Atticus, at Christmas time, wasn't it?"

"Right on the money," was Mr Carson's rapid comeback, eyes sparkling.

"You are keeping an eye on the pups, I hope, Charlie?" Elsie didn't really think he was neglecting them; frankly, there were so many people cooing over the puppies the only danger they faced was being smothered by enthusiasm. But it was fun teasing him.

"At this precise moment, they are being looked after by," he made a show of pointing and counting, "one, two, three, four, five people, not including me and you. I think they're perfectly fine." Charles Carson was getting quicker at answering his wife's teases. Then Mr Bates asked Mrs Carson something so she missed what he said next. "Six. Good afternoon, Mr Barrow."

"Mr Carson, good afternoon. The pups look like they're loving the attention, not that I'm surprised." He watched the people and puppies for a moment, then remembered himself. "I just need to pop into … the pantry for a moment. Will you both be here for a few moments longer?" Once assured that the Carsons weren't leaving immediately, Mr Barrow hurried off. He was pleased he had just caught himself before saying "my pantry", and that he'd made good use of a spare moment earlier in the afternoon when all the family were out.

Mr Barrow re-read the short letter he'd left on his desk, then folded it neatly and tucked it into an envelope. Picking up his good pen, he carefully wrote "Mr and Mrs Carson" on the envelope, then blotted the fresh ink. Going back into the servants' hall, he saw that the Carsons had moved to the puppy-free end and went to join them.

Elsie saw him approaching, looking uncharacteristically diffident, and nudged her husband to get his attention. Thomas visibly composed himself, and held out the envelope to Mrs Carson.

"This is a thank you note to you both, for your kind hospitality yesterday. I know the proper way is to post it, but when I saw you both here, I thought …" He smiled nervously at them, suddenly unsure. He cleared his throat, "I thought I'd like to deliver the note personally. I know Lady Mary regularly brings the children to see you, and I was honored that she and you felt I was a suitable substitute for her. I … very much enjoyed being able to visit you in your own home, and the children loved seeing you as always."

"And meeting the puppies, I'll be bound!" commented Elsie.

"Certainly the puppies were a wonderful surprise for the children."

Elsie smiled warmly at him and said, "Mr Barrow, please be assured that you are welcome to visit, with or without the children."

Carson, who was still keeping an eye on the puppies because he couldn't help himself, took his eyes off them briefly to look directly at Barrow, and nodded to confirm his agreement.

"And now, I need to get to the bottom of this 'Albert' and 'Beryl' business." Mrs Carson touched her husband's arm as she moved away, narrowing her eyes as she approached the cook. "Mrs Patmore, might we have a moment in my sitting room?" Without waiting for a response, Elsie turned to lead the way and was pleased to hear Mrs Patmore bustling behind her.

Carson watched with amusement as Blackie followed the two women, wondering when they would notice him.

"What?!" Sure enough, soon came the exclamation, unmistakably from his wife. Then there was a brief pause, and then the predictable—to Carson, at any rate—reaction. "Oh well, since you're here, you might as well stay. Here, come to Elsie, wee Blackie."

§ § § § § § § § §

"Are you men coming through with the ladies, or staying here for a while?" Cora's question wasn't directed to anyone in particular so the three males at the dining table looked at each other and seemed to come to wordless agreement.

"We'll join you now," replied Robert. "None of us see Tom and Henry as much as we used to, now they're racing off to York every day. Let's stay together this evening."

Lady Grantham smiled her approval of this plan and paused by the butler on her way out of the dining room. "Mr Barrow, would you please ask Daisy to come upstairs just for a moment? I promise I won't keep her long; I don't want to delay the servants' meal."

As they settled in the drawing room, Lady Mary remembered something. "Tom, I almost forgot to tell you: I had a letter from Edith in the second post and she congratulated you and Henry on your first sale."

Tom and Henry grinned—it was still a great feeling—and Robert and Cora exchanged a warm glance. Edith was voluntarily writing to Mary, and Mary was happy to discuss the correspondence. Verily it was a wonderful new world. Cora went to sit beside her husband and murmured quietly to him.

Mary continued, "She will be writing to you soon she says, Tom, and apologizes for the delay. They're very busy these days with a new puppy."

"Ha! There's a lot of that about, these days." Tom smiled at the coincidence.

"Mary, remind me, did she say what sort of dog?" inquired Henry.

"Just a moment, I left the letter here before dinner." Mary retrieved the letter from the side table, and scanned the pages. "It's a 'rough coated collie' …"

Tom responded to the querying tone of her voice. "That's one of the long-haired ones."

Mary thanked him with her smile and continued, "She's just over a year old, so not strictly a puppy. A Brancaster tenant breeds and sells them for shepherding work, but this one got an eye injury so couldn't be considered for a proper working dog position, so he offered her to Bertie as a family pet." She turned over a page, "I'm sure there's more … here … that's right … the tenant trained her a little. Listen to this!"

Lord and Lady Grantham looked up from their quiet conversation.

"Edith says, 'Abbey sits up and begs for food, and shakes paws.' And 'Marigold, needless to say, is completely smitten.'"

Just then the drawing room door opened, and Mr Barrow announced and ushered in Daisy.

Lady Grantham looked up and smiled apologetically. "Daisy, I'm sorry if I'm delaying the downstairs dinner—"

"No m'lady, that's quite—" Daisy's attempted protest was stopped by Lady Grantham's quelling hand.

"I'll just be a moment. I asked to see you because I wanted to talk you in person and thank for the delicious meal tonight, in fact the several nights of Mrs Patmore's time off. You've done very well, you're a credit to Mrs Patmore's training as well as to this house, and you should be very proud."

Daisy's eyes widened at this praise, and just managed to gather herself enough to bob a small curtsy and stammer, "Th-thank you, my lady."

Lady Grantham looked a little awkward for a second, then continued, "Now, please don't let me keep you any longer. Barrow, will you stay just a moment?"

Daisy scurried off and Mr Barrow waited, standing ramrod straight near the door.

"Barrow, I know Daisy's been in sole charge with Mrs Patmore away and I wanted to compliment her excellent work. As I was talking to her though, it occurred to me that perhaps I should have spoken to her in front of the staff, acknowledged her before them?"

Barrow contrived to reply impassively, "M'lady, I think it's safe to say that the staff is probably already hearing the news from Daisy herself."

"Thank you, Mr Barrow. That will be all tonight." Lady Grantham's formal words were belied by her amused smile.

As Barrow closed the drawing room door behind him, Robert remarked, "I didn't think the female staff were still expected to curtsy, not since the war at least."

"I suspect Daisy was so startled that she automatically reverted to her earliest training," said Tom.

"What went wrong with your training, then Tom?" asked Henry cheekily.

"Oh, Tom's a hopeless case, but we love him anyway," sassed Mary. The room erupted in laughter, and it was hard to say who was laughing loudest.

TBC

* * *

 **a/n: I'm not going to go on about the palsy, but I thought Carson should refer to it himself this once. I've chosen to have Barrow wholeheartedly embrace his "being a new person" idea, although sometimes I wonder if I've gone a bit far.**

 **I have no idea when the phrase "my schedule is wide open" came into use in the US. I just know it doesn't sound like something Carson would say. The little bit of silliness appealed to me though, so I hope you'll overlook this and any other historical inaccuracies.**

 **The Brancaster dog is called "Abbey" because I thought "Downton" would be an odd name for a female dog. When writing the previous library scene with the other children, I was about to include Marigold, then I remembered she wasn't at Downton anymore. So I had to mention her, and of course Edith and Bertie, by way of a letter.**

 **Never fear Chelsie fans, there will be a decent amount of Chelsie interaction in the next chapter and possibly even a Carson cottage visit.**

 **Thanks to everyone who's reading, and reviewers, please know that I love hearing from you. Subtlety's other name is not wobbear.**


	4. Chapter 4

**In this chapter: Thomas Barrow, Sybbie Branson, Tom Branson, Charles Carson, Elsie Hughes/Carson, Cora Crawley, George Crawley, Robert Crawley, Andy Parker, Rosamund Painswick, Henry Talbot and Mary Talbot.**

 **a/n: Behold the Chelsieness of this chapter! They actually appear together in two different scenes!**

 **The first part of this chapter is a flashback to the Wednesday—the day before chapter 3—in case you're not paying attention to the dates.**

* * *

Wednesday, 21st April, 1926

This particular Wednesday Lady Mary was busy "agenting", as her father liked to call it, out in the far reaches of the estate, and Mr Barrow accompanied the children to the Carsons' in her stead. They were invited for lunch, as Mr Barrow needed to be back on duty for afternoon tea. He had allowed Andy, his sole footman, some extra time that afternoon to help Mr Mason with the pigs, and so the butler would be serving the tea.

"It's good to see you, Mr Barrow," said Mr Carson, waving the younger man and the children into the cottage. "Mrs Carson's in the kitchen, please go on through." Carson bent over to greet the children and smiled broadly as Sybbie and George chorused in reply, "Hullo, Mr Carson!

"Mr Barrow, so nice you could come with the children today." Mrs Carson beamed at the trio as her husband followed them in.

"Thank you for inviting me, Mr and Mrs Carson." He looked around and seemed to relax before their eyes. "You have such a comfortable, welcoming home." He smiled genuinely, then added, "And I suppose I should also thank the dowager countess, for inviting Lord and Lady Grantham to lunch and freeing me to come here."

Mrs Carson gestured towards her husband, encouraging him to speak, and looked expectant.

"Now, we have something to show you all." Mr Carson straightened up to his butler's stance, and waited until he had the children's attention. "You two must promise not to rush forward; you must stay where I tell you and do only what I do."

Their two little heads, one blond and one brunette, nodded earnestly.

"Alright then. Come with me," he paused and deepened his voice to drive home how serious he was, "and watch what I do."

Elsie shot an amused glance at Thomas, who was clearly intrigued.

Carson lead the children to the door at the rear of the cottage, to the left of the range. Specially chosen for this purpose for its direct access to the cottage's garden and easy to clean surfaces, the small room was a sort of scullery. Normally dishes and laundry were done here, and dirty gardening boots and tools were cleaned. Both of the cottage's residents were in the kitchen, so it was surprising to hear small scrabbling noises, and was that a yelp? Thomas looked at Mrs Carson, who held up her hand, telling him to wait.

§ § § § § § § § §

There was a flurry of activity as Sybbie, George and Thomas met the three young dogs. The current Downton butler was even seen sitting on the floor with puppies clamouring for his attention. The children were thrilled when Mr Carson gave them the responsibility of naming the trio, then over lunch the guests heard all about where the three had been found. The children were sad the mummy dog was missing, but glad they had found such a nice place to stay.

Fortunately the weather was mild and sunny and the back garden was safely enclosed by stone walls and a solid wooden gate, so after lunch children and puppies frolicked happily together outside.

When eventually the puppies were tired out and flopped snoozing on the sun-warmed paving stones, George and Sybbie were flagging too and sought comfort on the ample lap of Mr Carson, one snugged into each arm. When they fell asleep, the children were carefully moved to a blanket on the lawn, in the shade of the apple tree. As they napped, the adults relaxed in canvas deck chairs enjoying Mr Carson's homemade ginger beer, Mrs Carson's shortbread, and the heady fragrance of the wisteria which sprawled over the sunny back wall. After a while, Blackie roused himself and made a beeline for Elsie. She shook her head at him even as she reached down to bring him onto her lap.

§ § § § § § § § §

When it was time for the visitors to leave, Charles gave into the children's pleas that he and the puppies walk back to the house with them. Elsie shooed them out the door and while she dried the dishes, was remembering how the Wednesday visits started.

As part of the managed handover of housekeeping duties to Miss Baxter, Elsie now had every evening off, took a half day every Wednesday, as well as another half day on Saturday and all of Sunday off. This enabled Miss Baxter to get used to sole charge of the house, and gave the Carsons more time together.

Elsie well recalled another Wednesday, the morning when Lady Mary knocked tentatively on her sitting room door downstairs and inquired hesitantly, unsure of her welcome, whether she and the children might visit the Carsons at their cottage that afternoon. She explained that they all missed seeing Mr Carson in the house every day, and while she didn't want to be a bother, she wondered if they might call by.

And so it had started.

This unexpected development was a pleasure for them all, and something Elsie would not have even dreamed of happening a year ago. The young woman she had once derided as an uppity minx had matured and become more considerate in her ways, while not losing her inimitable spark of character.

And what of Mr Barrow? It seemed he truly had turned over a new leaf in his book of life. While Elsie already knew him to be good with the children, she had found Thomas refreshingly pleasant company this afternoon. He truly seemed to have abandoned his former shield of arrogance and general nastiness, revealing underneath a kinder, gentler person.

As the visitors were leaving, Elsie had wrapped up a package of shortbread for Thomas to take back with him. She was sure that he would share it with the rest of the staff, and that thought gave her great pleasure.

Friday, 23rd April,1926

"Did I see Lady Rosamund arrive right ahead of me, when I was walking to the house just now?" asked Charles. He often came to accompany Elsie back to the cottage at the end of her day. Naturally this week, he had the puppies in tow.

Elsie was tidying her desk in preparation for leaving. "Yes, she's here until Sunday. Here for Lady Violet's birthday dinner party on Saturday." She looked at him. "You've not forgotten, surely?"

"Oh." He sighed gustily. "No, but I've been distracted this week by these three," indicating the little dogs cuddled in a make-do bed in the corner. "How could I forget?" He glowered.

Elsie, vexed, said, "We've been over this. You've known the woman for over fifty years, for goodness' sake, and she specifically requested that you come to her birthday dinner."

"But why? She's never invited me before, and it's not even a 'landmark' birthday."

Elsie finished setting her papers in order, and sat down at her desk chair, ready to adjust her husband's thinking one more time. "Dealing with your points in turn, firstly," she fixed a determined stare upon Charles and he wisely decided to listen quietly, a meek expression on his face. "While you were the butler here, neither of you would have felt such an invitation appropriate."

He nodded in agreement, then couldn't resist blustering, "And it still isn't!"

"Charles Carson, you are a respected friend of the family and they have done you the honour of asking you to celebrate the birthday of a respected family elder. In fact, you're a respected elder too." Elsie was quite pleased with that analogy.

Her husband, on the other hand, was not. "I'm a loyal servant." He possessed considerable self esteem and was proud of what he had achieved in his butling career, but he was very certain of his place in the world, and it most definitely was not sitting as a guest at the Downton dining table.

"The invitation is for you personally, not your position. For Pete's sake, they were fine eating with Gwen, a former housemaid! And it's not like you'll disgrace yourself, or heaven forfend, the family, with your table manners."

"Moving on," Elsie resisted the inclination to raise her eyes heavenwards, and marched forward like the doughty Scot she was. "Secondly, the dowager Lady Grantham is turning eighty-four. It's quite an achievement to reach such an age, even in these modern times, and she would like you to celebrate with her." She was carefully ignoring the fact the actual invitation had come from the present Lady Grantham. Carson seemed to have temporarily overlooked this, and it did not suit her purposes to remind him. Notwithstanding that the dowager had specifically asked for them to be invited, in this sort of mood Charles would be inclined to dismiss Cora's invitation on the basis she was an American and didn't know how things were done.

Reason and logic were not helping in this discussion; Elsie would have to make an emotional plea. "She wants you to be there, Charlie."

After his initial outbursts, Carson stayed silent through this impassioned address, and although he still felt uncomfortable with the whole idea of being a guest in the house, he knew that he would attend the dinner. As he saw it, they had accepted the invitation and could not now gracefully decline, without very good reason. His eyes alit briefly on the puppies, but he quickly realized that excuse would be a non-starter. There would be plenty of people downstairs only too happy to look after the pups, if the Carsons didn't want to leave them in their scullery for the duration of the dinner.

He was surprised at the vehemence of Elsie's argument, however: her color was high and she was as near to swearing as she would ever get. He was about to set her mind at ease, when Elsie eventually said, "I don't know what you're worried about. I haven't a thing to wear!"

§ § § § § § § § §

"That was a lovely meal, Mr Barrow. Please give my compliments to Mrs Patmore." Lady Rosamund swept out of the dining room as Barrow nodded in acknowledgment.

All this recent praise would be going to the cooks' heads, Thomas mused, not that it wasn't well deserved. Then he mentally shook himself, surprised at the fact he didn't resent others being lauded. He was simply pleased their skill and hard work was being noted. It was a strange but welcome sensation and, unwittingly, he grinned.

Andy happened to see this as he looked up from clearing the table and said, "Penny for them, Mr Barrow?"

"Uh, pardon?"

"A penny for your thoughts? You suddenly smiled, and I wondered …" Andy faltered and stopped.

"Oh, they're worth much more than that, Andy." Barrow smiled again, and started helping with the table.

Andy was now accustomed to doing the task by himself, but knew better than to make a big thing of this, and simply said, "Thank you for your help, Mr Barrow."

§ § § § § § § § §

As everyone settled in the drawing room, some with coffee and others whisky or port, Rosamund exclaimed, "Oh, finally!" All eyes now on her, she continued, "I've been meaning to ask ever since I arrived, but it kept slipping my mind."

Robert decided not to tease his sister about memory lapses in an aging mind, and instead asked, "Oh, what's that?"

"When Madden was driving me here from the station, just before we turned into the driveway, I saw a man walking in the lane, who looked very like Carson, his build anyway. But I couldn't see him properly in the twilight. But the thing is—"

"Was he coming from the east?" asked Tom. "His cottage is that way, so it's very possible."

"Yes, so we didn't pass him, coming from the village. But the thing is, he seemed to have three—"

"Puppies!" Mary and Henry interrupted in unison.

Both startled and bemused, Rosamund said doubtfully, "Well, yes. That's why I thought it couldn't be Carson."

Tom and Mary proceeded to enlighten her, with help from Henry.

Cora watched as her sister in law heard about the puppies, and noticed Rosamund's intense interest. "Rosamund, you're not thinking of perhaps taking one of them yourself, surely?"

"You know, I think I might be. Dear Marmaduke was dreadfully allergic so we couldn't have any pets, but we always had dogs growing up here …" Rosamund was evidently excited at this new possibility. "Why not?!"

"You're completely crackers to even be contemplating such a thing!" Robert shook his head at his sister's folly. "Anyway, I was up very early today. I'm going to bed. Goodnight, all." As Robert left the drawing room, Henry heard him muttering, "Crackers!"

* * *

 **a/n: I was in two minds whether to include the kids actually meeting the puppies at all, since we basically already know what's happened, but evidently I decided to, even though the style of that part is different (more narrative, less dialogue) from the rest of the fic. A previous reviewer known only as "Guest," who wanted to see the Carsons at their cottage, did influence my decision. Did it work OK?**

 **A shout-out to guest reviewers suzie and Teresagreen who I couldn't thank via PM. Thank you again to everyone who's reading, following and reviewing. Looks like there will be eight chapters plus an epilogue. I'm still finishing the remaining chapters and writing the last, so if you have a moment please do give me your reactions, thoughts and feedback. They really do help when I'm writing.**


	5. Chapter 5

**In this chapter: Thomas Barrow, Tom Branson, Charles Carson, Elsie Hughes/Carson, Richard Clarkson, Cora Crawley, Robert Crawley, Dickie Grey, Isobel Grey, Joseph Molesley, Andy Parker, Rosamund Painswick, Henry Talbot and Mary Talbot**.

 **A/n: I know the site is wonky at the moment, but I said I'd post today, so here's the next chapter.**

* * *

Saturday, 24th April 

"You'll never guess whom I had a drink with at the Grantham Arms today," said Charles. He and the puppies were walking home with Elsie, who had completed her Saturday half day of work. The morning's rain showers had fortunately passed, leaving wind-driven clouds racing overhead.

"No, I never will," she replied perkily. Elsie knew he wanted her to hazard a guess, and she wasn't feeling so inclined.

"You're not even going to try?" The disappointment in his voice was audible.

"I hate to state the obvious here, but you said I'd never guess." She watched him trying to untangle the leashes for the umpteenth time and bent to help. "Here, let me take two of them for a bit."

Canine charges rearranged, they set off again, Carson on his wife's left and Patchy's leash in his left hand. This conformation proved to be more successful in keeping the puppies proceeding in a moderately orderly fashion, and the Carsons glanced at each other with mutual smiles of satisfaction.

"Now then, ignoring the silly guessing game you were trying to provoke, what were you doing in the pub? Is this how you plan to spend your retirement, Charlie?" Her warm tone banished any thought that she was seriously concerned.

"I was in the village around half past eleven this morning with the terrible trio, and had just been into the post office to buy the stamps you asked for." He raised his eyebrows, emphasizing the point it was down to her he was in the village at all.

Elsie noticed, but didn't engage. "And I thank you. Go on," she said encouragingly.

"Then I was hailed by Lord Merton. He looks very well these days. In any case, he said he was about to meet Doctor Clarkson and that they would both like to talk to me. They were planning to do so this evening, but our meeting by chance was fortuitous."

"Oooh, the intrigue!" Elsie's dancing eyes urged him on, and he recounted the story.

§ § § § § § § § §

Three men, three puppies, three pints. They gathered in the 'garden' of the Grantham Arms, behind the pub: basic wooden tables and benches set in a feeble attempt at grass. Perhaps once the weather warmed fully into summer the lawn would establish full coverage. For the present purposes, though, it was ideal: the puppies were contained and safe, and couldn't do much damage. That said, Blackie had discovered that Lord Merton's umbrella was very tasty and it was playing a starring role in the siblings' tug of war game. Carson had sought to stop them, until Lord Merton said, "That old thing? They're welcome to it!"

Since Carson seemed to have been appointed the puppies' unofficial guardian, Dr Clarkson was focused firmly on him, stating his case with—ahem—dogged determination.

"Mr Carson, please be assured I am very aware that just because this puppy, eh, Blackie, looks like one I knew long ago, it doesn't mean he's anything like that old dog. He will have his own personality, his owns likes and fears, and all the rest. It's just … he needs a home, I like the look of him, and I'm prepared to do my very best to give him a good life."

Dr Clarkson's impassioned plea was wasted on Carson. He knew the man and could see his heart and mind were in the right place. The doctor had even lined up people to care for the puppy while he was working at the hospital, or away on house calls or emergencies. Given that Lord and Lady Merton were the substitute caretakers, Carson thought Blackie was going to be very well looked after indeed. But he wasn't above toying with the two men for just a moment.

"I both understand and appreciate that Dr Clarkson, however, there is one other matter to consider. Blackie and Mrs Carson have taken rather a shine to each other and I am loathe to part them." The former part was true, but the latter statement was more fanciful. In point of fact, neither of the Carsons was keen to raise a puppy at the moment. They had talked about it since the trio arrived from York: Elsie was busy finishing up at the Abbey and he was just beginning to find his feet in his new age of retirement. Nevertheless, Carson was working his tiny audience of two, making them sweat a little, because he knew it would make the end result that little bit sweeter.

Dr Clarkson, said pensively, "Yes, I can believe that. He is very dear …" As the doctor spoke, his right hand fingered his beer glass while his left hand was resting on his thigh. "If you're wishing to keep him, of course, that's your decision and I'll have to accept it, but—

Just then Blackie reached up to nuzzle Clarkson's hand, and the doctor looked down wistfully at the puppy as he scratched that special place between the two floppy ears.

"Maybe it's that he likes Scottish accents." Dickie Grey wasn't above trying to work his audience either: he languidly waved his hand in Clarkson's direction—just in case Carson had forgotten the good doctor's origins. Then he showed his true desperation. "Did you know my maternal grandmother was Scottish? From Deeside, she was a Strachan."

It was time to put them out of their misery, thought Carson.

Carson smiled at the two men, both brimming with nervous anticipation. "I have a suggestion. We're all to be at the birthday dinner tonight, and some of the staff will be looking after the dogs. Why don't we meet tomorrow afternoon? We can go out for a walk with the puppies and then you can take him home from there."

"You mean we've got him?!" Lord Merton jumped up and shook Carson's hand in utter glee.

Dr Clarkson was more reserved, but clearly no less pleased. Smiling broadly, he too shook Carson's hand, saying, "Thank you for entrusting your charge to me, to us, I mean."

Carson felt a sense of relief, a lightening of the load, and his words were heartfelt. "Believe me, it's my pleasure. He's a very lucky pup."

§ § § § § § § § §

Promptly at a quarter to eight that evening, Lord Grantham's Sunbeam limousine pulled up in front of the Carsons' cottage. A very well-dressed chauffeur got out and stood ready to welcome his passengers.

After an urgent consultation with Mrs Patmore and Anna, arranged the previous evening by Mr Carson, Mrs Carson had been persuaded she did indeed have something to wear. And so the embroidered evening coat given by Lady Grantham for their wedding had its second outing. A nearly-new pair of silk evening gloves, very willingly donated by Lady Mary, assisted in making Elsie feel suitably dressed.

Attire for the men was as decreed by the dowager: white tie and tails, not "those dreadful waiter outfits." Although in reality she was now used to black tie and short dinner jackets, after her daughter in law's thoughtful reminder that Carson possessed only the more formal evening garb, the matriarch delighted in being able to appear autocratic and demanding for her birthday celebration.

When the Carsons emerged from their cottage shortly after the arrival of the car, Tom Branson snapped into action, opening the passenger door, bowing briskly as he said, "A very good evening to you, Mr and Mrs Carson."

Elsie forestalled any potential propriety grumbles from her husband by putting a calming hand on Charles's arm and replying cheerfully, "And to you, Mr Branson."

The Carsons and puppies were soon luxuriously situated in the back of the car, in which the blanket had been preemptively spread. Tom was to take the pups to the servants' hall where Miss Baxter and Mr Bates stood ready to keep an eye on them.

On their arrival at the big house, Andy opened the car door and handed Mrs Carson out, then followed them in through the front door where Mr Molesley awaited to assist with any coats and hats. It was a very pleasant late April evening and Carson was hatless, so Molesley stepped back. He observed as the Carsons arrived for the first time as guests in the house they had worked for so many years. They stopped together as they entered the Great Hall, and both looked up and around, taking in the pointed-arched ceiling and the stone gallery, festooned with the coats of arms of every earl and countess. So often had they walked through the great hall in their professional lives, eyes and minds firmly focused on the task at hand: they had rarely regarded the splendour all around them.

Soon their eyes met, and Molesley watched as they straightened, seemingly in unison, and moved forward arm in arm. He stepped forward, knowing he must seize the moment, and stood almost at attention as he said, "Mrs and Mrs Carson, good evening."

"Thank you, Mr Molesley, and good evening to you," replied Elsie.

Carson greeted Molesley with a polite nod and said, "Mr Molesley, I didn't expect to see you here tonight."

"I'm here in your honour, Mr Carson, and very happy to be. Mr Barrow asked Lord Grantham that I be added to the staff for this special occasion, and his lordship readily agreed."

This succeeded in rendering Carson completely speechless, so his wife thanked Mr Molesley as Mr Barrow stepped forward to say, "Welcome to Downton Abbey, Mr and Mrs Carson."

§ § § § § § § § §

 _Gentle readers, the conversation that Saturday evening was lively and varied, as befitting the occasion. Here are preserved those snippets most relevant to our tale._

"So Carson, I gather you already have a taker, or should I say takers, for the black puppy," said Lady Rosamund.

"Yes, the Clarkson-Merton consortium," said Lord Merton with an indulgent smile, then he caught himself. "I do beg your pardon, Carson, I spoke out of turn."

"No, that's quite alright, Lord Merton." Carson did not feel slighted in the least. Indeed, he was pleased Lord Merton was so enthusiastic. "Lady Rosamund, you may not be aware that Mr Mason at Yew Tree Farm is interested in the female puppy, the one we think is part Beagle."

Lady Mary inquired, "You're not tempted to keep one for yourself, Carson?

"No, my lady. They are lovely in their way, but they've worn me out, I don't mind saying. Not to mention, Mrs Carson and I had never previously discussed the idea of getting a dog, and so I was rather surprised when she and Mr Branson turned up with the puppies." He paused, eyes gentle. "Still, I've quickly become fond of them."

"Please tell me about the third one, Carson." Lady Rosamund's words were somewhere between a request and a command.

"M'lady, he is twixt red and brown in colour, not for nothing is he called Rusty. There may be some Irish setter in him or possibly golden retriever. He has a fluffier coat than the other two, his hair is quite fine. General consensus is that he may well grow "feathers" on his tail, legs, and so on, though this is all conjecture." Carson took a sip of very good Margaux as he thought. "We understand his mother was a short-haired Labrador cross. The head is neither markedly narrow nor broad, and his legs are more slender than sturdy."

"What about his temperament?" queried Lady Mary.

"He likes people, and is confident and curious. He's a puppy of course, but not noticeably more difficult than his siblings. However, he is more—" Carson sought the right word. "The adjective that springs to mind is 'bouncy'." He was gratified when his audience smiled at his little pun.

Lord Merton, palpably enthused, said, "I say, Lady Rosamund, Dr Clarkson and I are dog walking with Carson tomorrow afternoon, then taking home our puppy. Why don't you join us? You can meet Rusty then." He visibly shook himself, and his ingrained courtesy impelled him to add, "If that's alright with you of course, Carson?"

"Oh, the more, the merrier, my lord."

§ § § § § § § § §

"I would have thought three a small litter for a Labrador-sized dog," remarked Lady Merton.

To her right, Dr Clarkson nodded as he finished a mouthful of lemon sorbet. "I'm no expert, but it did seem a low number."

Henry, on Lady Merton's other side, heard this exchange and commented quietly, "The landlord at the pub said there were more that died around the time of birth, or within a week or so."

"Failure to thrive … I suppose that's not unusual, particularly with the mother being a stray. She was probably malnourished," mused Lady Merton.

"I expect so," replied Dr Clarkson. "But great credit is due to her—with some assistance from the people from the pub, she did a great job raising the survivors."

"To the fortunate three, and their mother." Henry raised his glass, and the lady and the doctor silently toasted with him, without drawing the others' attention to their end of the table.

§ § § § § § § § §

Lord Grantham turned to his left and asked a question he'd been wondering about in the past few days. "Mrs Hughes, how did you persuade your husband to foster the puppies? He's doing a wonderful job, but I admit it did surprise me when I first heard about it."

"M'lord, I knew he would like a challenge, and he's always been a big softy for young things, be they human or canine." Elsie took a sip of water as she considered further. "As your butler he prided himself on being able to deal with anything, so there was no way that he would let himself be defeated by three little puppies."

Tom, on the other side of Elsie, leaned a little closer, grinning broadly. "The fact that I brought the pups to him probably incentivized him a touch more."

Lord Grantham furrowed his brow, sensing there was something of a joke there somewhere but not truly understanding.

Tom explained diplomatically, "He's always found my … change of position a challenge to come to terms with."

"Ah." Robert knew what Tom meant. "But Mrs Hughes, I sense you don't share these, ah, difficulties?"

"No, m'lord, I never have. It's the practical Scot in me I suppose. Accept reality and get oan wae it."* She smiled at Tom, adding, "The fact he's such a personable young man didn't hurt either."

§ § § § § § § § §

"Dr Clarkson, I hear you're taking one of the puppies. Wonderful!"

"I am, Lady Grantham. It's the black one, and he's to be called "Laddie". The name is in tribute to a dog I had as a boy."

"And how clever of you to enlist Dickie and Isobel as … what should we call them? Dog nannies?" Cora tilted her head, thinking. That didn't sound quite right.

"My lady, we—that is, they and I—are referring to them as godparents. Although that may smack of blasphemy," he noted, not looking at all worried about it. "Lord Merton told me he'd been wondering about getting a dog himself, but this arrangement suits him very well."

"And of course we both know any creature under Lady Merton's charge will not want for care."

The lady in question was on Dr Clarkson's other side, and tuned in to the mention her name. "Oh dear, my ears are burning!"

"Isobel, never fear. Only good things," assured Cora. "Only good things."

TBC

* * *

 **a/n: The evening continues in the next chapter.**

 ***check out my tumblr (wobbear) for the inspiration for this phrase.**

 **If you're interested in the seating plan for the birthday dinner, see my tumblr for who sat next to who, and my rationale. A lot of thought went into it, just because ...**

 **I won't beg for reviews, but honestly I love reading your comments, so if you have a moment, please humor me! If the site won't let you review, head on over to tumblr anyway and check out my two chapter 5 related posts.**


	6. Chapter 6

**In this chapter: Thomas Barrow, John Bates, Phyllis Baxter, Tom Branson, Charles Carson, Elsie Hughes/Carson, Richard Clarkson, Cora Crawley, Robert Crawley, Violet Crawley, Dickie Grey, Isobel Grey, Rosamund Painswick, Andy Parker, [Edith Pelham,] Henry Talbot and Mary Talbot.**

 **A/n: The birthday dinner continues for a bit, then there's other action. Reminder—the seating chart for the dinner is on my tumblr.**

 **Thank you to my several faithful reviewers; I really appreciate hearing from you.**

 **This chapter ran longer than expected. I hope it works!**

* * *

Saturday, 24th April (still)

On Lord Grantham's sign, Barrow diligently ensured that everyone had a glass of champagne, and then confirmed this to his lordship with a nod.

Robert stood, and soon all the conversations around the table hushed expectantly. "We are very fortunate indeed to be gathered here tonight to celebrate the birthday of a most redoubtable lady, my darling mama.

"Over the many years of her life, she has always met the challenges of tumultuous times with strength of character and implacable will. Her interest and involvement in the estate has been unswerving, and it's safe to say she is known both in Yorkshire and beyond for her many words and deeds in support of everyone at Downton.

"Likewise she has faced the many technological advancements with her indomitable flair—by which I mean outright rejection, followexd by a sometimes lengthy rapprochement." General hilarity ensued around the table. "Who'd have thought before the war that the dower house would now have both electricity and the telephone?"

Robert paused, waiting for the laughter to die down. "In everything she has been guided by her firm views of what is right, and what is important. Through it all she has remained steadfast and true to what really matters: family, which includes the whole Downton estate family.

"Before I forget, I have a letter from Brancaster that Edith, in a covering note, insisted I should read at this dinner. It says, "Happy Birthday, Granny. Our dearest wishes to you on your birthday. I am so sorry we cannot be there because I am presently indisposed. But it is a happy indisposition, as it foreshadows the expected arrival in six months' time …" he stopped, suddenly realizing what he was reading, then continued with a huge smile on his face, "of your fourth great grandchild." Anything further was lost in the various exclamations of delight, understanding and surprise.

Robert waited, grinning broadly as everyone settled down again. Then he turned more to his right, to face his mother and address her directly. "Mama, we are very glad we are able to celebrate this, your eighty-fourth birthday, with you. So," he looked around the table, "please raise your glasses and let us drink a hearty toast of 'Happy Birthday'." Robert lifted his champagne coupe as he spoke, "Happy Birthday, mama."

The "Happy Birthdays" echoed around the table, with additions of "granny," "Violet," "mama" and "Lady Grantham" depending on the speaker.

"If I may?" The dowager's unmistakeable voice cut through the murmuring after the birthday greetings and silence soon reigned, eyes on Lady Violet. "Thank you all for your birthday wishes, and for being here tonight. I should like to say a special thanks to one person, whose presence is much appreciated, although I understand it was not always assured."

Elsie quelled her sudden snort of amusement and settled for looking across the table at Charles, whose flush—she was certain—was not wholly from the wine.

"Robert spoke of the Downton family, and he was right to do so. This person has been at Downton for more than fifty years, since the present Earl was but a boy, and has steered our ship steadily through often turbulent waters. I could say more but I have no wish to discomfort him further. Let us raise our glasses and drink to Carson," she paused then addressed him fully, "Mr Charles Carson."

§ § § § § § § § §

As Carson recovered from the unexpected tribute and people started to chat again, the dowager countess spoke to her son. "It was a nice toast, thank you Robert, but really it's you who's behind the times. My birthday was on Wednesday."

"As I recall, you agreed to defer the celebration to the weekend because it would be more relaxing for Tom, Mrs Hughes and Henry." His mother never let the truth get in the way of a witty quip. Having made his point, Robert decided to reprise his tease. "You'll be shocking us soon, no doubt, and flying off somewhere in an aeroplane."

"Robert, do be sensible. If God had intended us to fly, he'd have never given us the railways." *

§ § § § § § § § §

Soon after, everyone made their way to the drawing room, the men accompanying the women rather than remaining a while in the dining room for port or whisky. Edith's news was much discussed, but not the sole topic of conversation.

"I'd like to have a dog of my own at some point, but not when we're starting up the business and Mary's soon to have a baby." Henry looked wistful, but resolved. "Tio's a good substitute for now. What about you, Lady Violet?"

"I like dogs, I do. We always had them, of course, when I was living here. But they need walks, and at my stage in life, they're too much." The dowager thought of something and chuckled. She turned to Henry, laughing now, and said, "Really, can you imagine Spratt walking my dog?!"

Henry's laughter attracted Mary's attention. Her parents had just approached to talk to the Carsons, whom she'd accompanied through from the dining room. As she moved to join her husband and grandmother, she asked, "Granny, what are you two chortling about?"

"The improbable image of Spratt walking my hypothetical dog." She shook her head, still tickled at the picture.

"Don't you have a cat now?" Mary searched her memory. "Some stray your cook started feeding, as I recall."

"That's right. But Diana favours me," declared Violet, smugly satisfied.

"How wise of her," Henry remarked sotto voce. "Diana … I suppose she's a good hunter?"

"The dower house is mouse free thanks to her," confirmed Lady Violet. "I'm more used to dogs, but I've found that cats do have their own charm." She went on to describe the welcome warmth on cold days when Diana would sit on her lap, and how gratifying—she admitted her surprise at this—it was to make a cat purr.

Violet concluded by saying,"Cats know what they want and make it very clear. I like that."

Lady Mary and her husband exchanged glances, Henry barely hiding his amusement. "It stands to reason, Granny." Mary struggled to hide her smile as she said, "Great minds do think alike."

They watched with fascination as Violet first tried to pretend she didn't understand, then gave up and joined in their laughter.

§ § § § § § § § §

Carson looked much more relaxed than he had at the start of the evening, thought Cora. "Carson, we're so glad you could come tonight, both of you. Do tell me about the puppies." It wasn't that Cora was lacking news of the puppies, but she had determined this was a subject that would most likely put Carson at ease on this admittedly unusual occasion. She knew it wasn't the done thing for aristocratic employers to invite their butlers, former or otherwise, or housekeepers, to be dinner guests, but she cared very little about whether it would be deemed acceptable by others. This was the Carsons; they were practically family. It wasn't often she agreed with her mother in law, but even a broken clock was right twice a day.

Cora had kept Carson's shaky hands in mind when choosing the menu for the evening. While of course they had the dowager's favourite dessert, the decision to have a salmon mousse instead of soup was for Carson's benefit. He seemed to have managed very well from what Cora had seen.

Putting his favourite, Lady Mary, beside him at the table had been a good move too. Although Carson had been sitting on Cora's right, they had not spoken very much during the meal. Cora had chosen not to adhere to strict dining conversation rules—it was the twenties, after all—which had made for more relaxed and inclusive discussion around the table. Mary monopolizing Carson had made him more comfortable, so Cora was a happy hostess.

After considerable canine conversation, Carson steeled himself to ask Lady Grantham, "Would it be very irregular, m'lady, for me to go downstairs to show my appreciation to Mrs Patmore and the rest of the staff?"

"Carson, what a lovely idea! Of course you must, if you'd like to. Please, be my guest." Cora's words were chosen carefully. Carson would always be more concerned about propriety issues than she. While as butler he had moved freely between upstairs and down, as a guest he did not presume to have the same right. That Carson wanted to go was clear; equally clear was his conviction that his desire was not quite proper. But Cora knew that if she, the hostess, was content, Carson would ignore any reservations he might have.

"If it's alright then, I'll go down now." He saw Elsie was deep in conversation with Lord Grantham and Lady Merton, so he decided to go alone. "I'll be back shortly. Unless you wish to accompany me?"

"No, no, Carson. It's not like you don't know the way! Please," she repeated, gesturing towards the door.

§ § § § § § § §

From his seat in the armchair by the fireplace, Mr Bates was leaning over petting the belly of the black puppy, who was lying, legs in the air, in an ad hoc bed fashioned from a blanket and a welsh dresser drawer. The drawer's usual contents were neatly arrayed on top of the sideboard part of the dresser. Miss Baxter had Rusty standing on an old towel she'd spread out on the table and she was brushing him with an old hairbrush donated by Mrs Patmore. Barely drunk cups of now tepid tea sat on the table, ignored.

Andy glanced into the servants' hall as he passed by on the way to the scullery with dirty dishes from upstairs, and stopped there again on the return trip. A huge grin spread across his face as he confirmed what he thought he had glimpsed.

Andy's amused voice broke the peaceful silence. "What on earth are you doing, sat sitting** there, Patchy?!" The dog sitters looked up to see what he was talking about.

"Oh yes, she's really taken to that seat," said Miss Baxter, chuckling.

"Sitting up like Jackie, isn't she?" Mr Bates' eyes crinkled in a warm smile. He directed his next words to the puppy herself. "Don't let Mr Barrow see you!"

"Don't let Mr Carson see you, more like!" The distinctive rumble of the man himself surprised them all. He was pleased his lightness of foot, practiced over so many years, had not deserted him. His eyes swept the room, delighted at the cozy scene, and his face beamed in an indulgent smile which gave the lie to his words. Patchy was sitting proudly in the butler's chair, and he could have sworn she was grinning at him.

Sunday, 25th April

The low key puppy walk on Sunday afternoon had morphed into almost a replay of the dowager's dinner party, with the addition of George and Sybbie, who had been tucked up in their beds the night before. The only guests missing were Lady Violet herself (resting at the dower house after what had been a very late night for her), Lady Merton and Mrs Carson. Elsie was busy preparing afternoon tea for the dog walkers, assisted by the Baroness, who hadn't wanted join the walkers. When she wasn't trying to insist that Elsie call her Isobel, Lady Merton was actually being very helpful, folding napkins, cutting cake and plating Elsie's special shortbread. Elsie was thanking her lucky stars that the April showers looked likely to stay away: it would be easier to accommodate the sizable group in the garden. The cottage's coziness was due in part to its compact size.

Lady Rosamund had postponed her return to London until the morrow and was looking with great interest at the fluffy red pup. She was holding his leash and walking alongside her brother, who was pleased with Tio: the young lab was doing a good job of staying at (or certainly tolerably close to) Robert's heel.

Lord Grantham was not at all convinced it was a wise idea for his sister to adopt any of the dogs. Skepticism clear in his tone, Robert inquired, "You don't think he's too lively for you?"

Rosamund narrowed her eyes. "I'm not in my dotage yet, thank you brother dear. Anyway, I like a dog with spirit."

"But is the city really a place for a dog?" Robert regretted that question as soon as it left his lips.

"That's the pot calling the kettle black! I know for a fact you take your own dogs to London for the season, which must be a shock for them, used to the Yorkshire countryside as they are. This little chap will grow up there, and the hustle and bustle of the city will become second nature to him. For heaven's sake, he was living in a back alley in York."

Robert opened his mouth to speak, then closed it without uttering a word as Rosamund, fire in her eyes and determination in her heart, steam-rollered her way forward over any possible objections.

"The Belgrave Square garden is right across the road from the house, and in walking distance I have," Rosamund began counting on her fingers, "St James's Park, Green Park, with Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens also nearby. We can go for long walks in London's parks, and enjoy the Yorkshire countryside on visits to Downton." She glared at Robert, daring him to disagree as she added, "I'm very fond of walking, you know."

Robert knew he'd met his match; any and all objections he made would be rigorously rebutted. He flapped a placating hand at his sister and decided to accelerate to join his wife and Dr Clarkson, walking just ahead. He almost changed his mind when he heard mention of hospital rotas, then strengthened his resolve as he heard Rosamund add, "and Battersea Park is less than two miles away."

Carson and Tom Branson had been following the siblings in surprisingly companionable silence, punctuated by mutual eyebrow raising as they listened to Rosamund's impassioned argument. Carson was starting to understand why Elsie was so fond of the young Irishman. The two men smiled in greeting as Lady Rosamund joined them.

"Lord Grantham is being unreasonably negative about the idea, but I'm convinced I can make a go of it with this little chap." As she spoke, she lifted Rusty up onto the stone wall by the footpath, and began petting the puppy, long passes starting at his head. The men watched as he braced himself eagerly to meet each full body stroke. The beginnings of a connection between the two were already there.

"Still, I need to be practical." Last Rosamund appeared to be thinking out loud. She shook herself, and asked, "Tell me, Carson, would you be prepared to entertain this idea?" She continued stroking the dog. "In the very unlikely event that my pessimistic brother is correct and Rusty simply hates London life, would I be able to bring him back to you? Would you be prepared if necessary to seek another home for him?"

"My lady, naturally I'm sure we both hope that won't be required, but yes, we would take him back in temporarily if need be, then seek to find him a lasting home." Carson had known Lady Rosamund for much of her life and knew she had inherited her mother's strong will and stubborn streak. He doubted very much that he would be called on to place Rusty a second time.

Rosamund beamed. "Carson, you are such a dear. Thank you." As Carson blushed, she carried on. "Now, Rusty's a good name, but I don't think it's quite right." She studied the puppy a long quiet moment, thinking, then announced, "His name will be Rory."

Tom commented, "That's the English version of the Gaelic 'Red King', very appropriate. And I'm sure Mrs Carson would approve."

"I believe she will, Mr Branson," Carson concurred. He added, "Lady Rosamund, I don't think I mentioned this last night, but he likes chasing after balls and the like, although admittedly he hasn't yet mastered the retrieving part."

"Thank you, Carson, for that tip. I shall work with him, and teach him to play 'fetch,' as my dear sister in law would say."

The others had all passed by while they were talking, and Rosamund decided to catch up with Mary and Henry who were at the tail end of the group. Carson and Branson watched as she told them she was to take Rusty, now Rory, home. Her excitement was evident.

"Mr Carson, I admit I was surprised when Mrs Carson thought of you to look after the puppies." Carson started to agree, but Tom went on, "But I now see how right she was. You've done a wonderful job with them. They're clearly happy, and two even have homes, in less than a week."

Carson nodded his acknowledgement, touched beyond words.

Just then, Lady Rosamund's voice rose, loud enough for them to hear, as she said, "Besides, we redheads need to stick together!"

TBC

* * *

 **Yes, more author notes:**

 *** While I'd love it if I'd thought up this line, credit must go to Michael Flanders, of the British musical and comedy duo, Flanders and Swann. I'm not so ancient I saw them perform, but my parents did, and they had some LPs ...**

 **** "sat sitting" is not a typo. I know English people who say this.**

 **The date I chose for Lady Violet's 84th birthday is also the actual birthday of the baby who grew up to become Queen Elizabeth II: she recently celebrated her 90th.**

 **The idea of Lady Violet having a cat came from a fleeting glimpse of a cat on a wide windowsill in the dowager's drawing room. At the time, I was reviewing scenes trying to find out what Tom Branson called the dowager. I never did, so it was a bust but, hey, during my research I saw the cat!**

 **Lastly, I found Robert's speech hard to write. I hope it wasn't too clunky.**


	7. Chapter 7

**In this chapter: Tom Branson, Charles Carson, Elsie Hughes/Carson, Robert Crawley, Albert Mason, Daisy Mason, Andy Parker, Beryl Patmore, Henry Talbot and Mary Talbot.**

 **a/n: this chapter is as ready as it's ever likely to be, so I'm posting earlier than usual. I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

Monday, 26th April, 1926

Lady Mary had arranged with Mr Mason that she would accompany Carson on his afternoon visit, partly because Mason was due an agent visit and partly because she was intrigued to see how Patchy got on with the pigs. As she was leaving the house, the earl was heading out for a walk with Tio and decided to tag along with his daughter.

When they turned into the lane at the end of the driveway, Carson was approaching with Patchy from the direction of his cottage. After exchanging "good afternoons," the conversation moved to the matter at hand as they strolled towards Yew Tree Farm.

"I confess I am a little concerned about how Patchy will behave with the pigs, my lady." Carson looked solicitously at the last of his three charges. "It's not that I've seen any actual aggression on her part, but because of her ..." How could he describe it? "Individuality, I suppose it is. She's already showing signs of being a dog who knows her own mind and is very clear what she does, and does not, like. If she doesn't like pigs, Mr Mason simply won't be able to take her."

"But, surely, Carson, if she doesn't work out with Mason, we can find somewhere else for her." Lord Grantham often used the Royal "we," but Carson knew what he meant.

"I agree m'lord, it's just that I know Mr Mason would provide her a good home for her, and," he shrugged, "I'd like it to work out."

"So what's she like, Carson? I can't fault her for being particular." Lady Mary smirked, amusement warm in her eyes.

"Well, she's very entertaining. Did you hear about her choosing to sit in the butler's chair in servants' hall?" He recounted the tale, and went on. "She has certainly stuck up for herself against her brothers, despite their being larger. The males were generally more relaxed." Carson looked down at the tri-coloured puppy, who was keenly sniffing anything that she could reach, darting to and fro in front of him. "I sense she's quite intelligent, and would do well if given an actual job to do."

§ § § § § § § § §

They were seven taking tea around the big table in the Yew Tree Farm kitchen, plus the two dogs. The front parlour had been deemed too small given the size of the group, as well as more difficult to clean in the event of a puppy "accident," so the kitchen it was.

Mrs Patmore was serving the tea, still high on the success of the dowager's dinner party two nights before. The fact that Mr Carson had come downstairs to deliver his praise in person, and during the evening of the event itself, had thrilled her immensely. She knew well how important he considered the family/staff divide—never the twain should meet—so she recognized this as an extremely noteworthy event. While Beryl knew that she and Daisy had excelled themselves, for her the former butler's recognition was a crowning accomplishment.

Meanwhile her protégé was handing around the Madeleines, Battenberg cake, Bakewell tart and date scones.

"Mrs Patmore, delicious food as usual," said Lord Grantham after wiping some wayward icing from his mouth.

"Oh, this is all Daisy's work, my lord," corrected Beryl. "I just helped with making the tea, serving and that."

"Watch out, she'll be doing you out of a job!" Lord Grantham spoke in jest, but Mrs Patmore was secretly pleased. She was hoping to retire inside the year and already knew that Daisy was more than capable of taking over as cook—even so, Beryl planned to easy Daisy's load, by helping out on special occasions at the big house, much like Mr Molesley. The earl's confirmation was nevertheless appreciated.

Beryl didn't want Miss Baxter to become housekeeper and have to deal with the cook retiring at the same time, so she, supported by Albert's advice, had decided she would stay until the end of the year. In the meantime, she and Mr Mason planned to announce their "intentions:" although Elsie and Phyllis were sworn to secrecy, Beryl had a feeling most people had figured it out already. Mrs Hughes would be finishing up around the time the family all went off to Brancaster for the Glorious Twelfth,* so there would be a few months crossover with the old cook and the new housekeeper. At some stage in the summer, she supposed, Phyllis—soon to be known as Mrs Baxter—would have to resolve the ladies' maid situation, too.

Rounding out the numbers at afternoon tea was Andy. The lad was spending all his free time at the farm—the twin attractions of Daisy and the pigs keeping him close. Not that he ever confused the two, it must be said. For the past several days, Andy had been helping to feed a piglet, the runt of her farrow, that had been missing out on her mother's milk. The piglet was currently in a basket by the coal range, snuggled into a threadbare woolen blanket.

Mr Carson was feeling very satisfied, both from the toothsome food—although he knew he'd eaten too much—and the realization that he'd managed to find good homes for all three puppies in just over a week.

Patchy had proved to be interested in the pigs, not afraid, and nimble-footed and sensible enough to escape between the horizontal railings of the stye when one large sow took exception to her presence. Mr Mason had immediately pronounced her "born to pigs," and then when faced with the laughter of the assembled throng, goodnaturedly corrected to "born to _work wi'_ pigs". Mr Mason and Andy were clearly smitten with the little multi-coloured dog, and Mrs Patmore had previously been seen sneaking her table scraps at the big house. So Patchy had only Daisy still to win over, and Carson had no doubt the puppy would do so.

Lord Grantham was watching Carson, and thought his satisfaction well deserved. "Carson, well done! You've done a marvelous job with the puppies. All three in new homes, in such a short time. But aren't you going to miss them?"

Carson considered his answer while Mrs Patmore refreshed his cup of tea. "Honestly, m'lord, I wouldn't want to have my own puppy—they are delightful, but quite a lot of work." He smiled, despite himself. "This last week, with the three of them, has been enough to last me a lifetime. But even so, I _will_ miss them; they're great company. I'm used to the bustle of the big house so having them around has been a tonic."

"Carson, if I may say so, I'm impressed with how you've handled this transition. Normally, one's retirement would be a long-anticipated, planned for event, whereas yours was rather precipitated by … events." Lord Grantham reflected on recent months. "I also have to say I'm very pleased that Barrow does seem to have turned a corner; he does appear to have a kinder approach these days, and seems more content too."

"My lord, Mrs Hughes and I are not yet finished working with him, but we are very pleased with his progress."

Robert looked sharply at Carson, respect in his glance.

Carson smiled enigmatically and intoned gravely, "A butler's work is never done, m'lord." He thought for a moment, then added, "It _is_ a different life, indeed, but I'm learning how to navigate it."

The two men contemplated that in silence until Carson roused himself to inquire, "Mr Mason, what are you going to call your new puppy?" He rather assumed the new owner would want to choose a new name.

"Why, there's nowt wrong wi' the name she has! Patchy by nature, Patchy by name she'll be. Although," he paused for thought, " 'Appen on some occasions I may shorten it to 'Patch'."

Carson smiled genially, ridiculously pleased that one of the children's names was going to stick.

"Well, I never!" Daisy's astonishment cut through the quiet chatter and everyone looked up to discover the cause of her outburst. "Have you ever seen anything like that, ever?!" She pointed downward and all eyes followed her hand. There, in the oval wicker basket by the range lay Patch, curled around the tiny piglet, carefully cleaning the pink baby with her tongue.

"Born to pigs, what did I tell you?!" said Mr Mason, slapping his thigh as he laughed in delight.

Tuesday, 27th April, 1926

"Mrs Carson, might we have a word?"

Elsie looked up from her desk to see Tom and Henry both standing in the doorway, eyes eager. It was approaching upstairs tea time, five o'clock; early for them to be home from their business in York.

"Please, come in." She gestured towards the two chairs by her side table, and they sat down. She swiveled around to address them directly. "How may I help you?"

"Well," Tom looked at Henry, who nodded encouragingly. "We have a question for you."

"Yes, we'd greatly value your opinion on … an idea we have," added Henry.

"If you think I can help," began Elsie doubtfully. "I don't know anything about cars—"

"But you do know about Carson, I mean Mr Carson," interrupted Tom. "Our question is about him, and your opinion is key to the whole thing."

§ § § § § § § § §

Carson was stirring the stew he'd had cooking slowly all afternoon, and deliberating about turning on the wireless. Since his retirement he had started to learn some basic cooking, having found Daisy to be both a willing and patient teacher. He deeply regretted those early days of marriage when he had been—he shuddered at the memory—a wrong-headed boor about Elsie's cooking. But that was behind them, and the stew was starting to smell very good.

The wireless was a retirement gift from the Crawley family, and while Carson had long been skeptical about the need for one, he and Elsie did enjoy listening to the news, and the occasional plays and concerts. Charles checked the time and realized he would soon be walking up to the house to escort Elsie home, so decided against turning it on.

He sighed, a wry smile on his face. It was so very quiet without the puppies. How quickly he had become accustomed to having them around.

Carson's musings were interrupted by the sound of a vehicle in the lane which, to his surprise, stopped outside. He knew their neighbour, a widowed and now retired tenant farmer, was away visiting his daughter's family in Northallerton, so the visitor must be coming to the Carson cottage.

He was startled when the door opened—he'd expected a knock—then relaxed as his own dear wife entered. Then he tensed again: why was she home early, and by car?

"Oh, dinna fash yersel,** Charlie, I'm fine." What was it about talking to Tom Branson that brought out the Scot in her? He was Irish, for heaven's sake. For an intelligent woman Elsie had been unusually slow on the uptake in this regard, but suddenly it came to her. If her husband had a pseudo-daughter in Lady Mary, so had she found a surrogate son in Tom Branson. Comforted by that realization, she turned back to the task in hand.

Carson felt her forehead for fever and visually checked for injuries, even as Elsie tried to wave off his attentions.

"Away with you! I'm perfectly well, you daft ha'p'orth,*** but I do need to talk to you." Elsie sat down at the table and gestured for Charles to follow suit.

Then she continued. "You see, Charlie, I've been thinking. I'll be retiring soon, and we'll have all the time in the world. You've done very well with the puppies," she made a quelling motion with her hand to forestall the protest she could see on his face. "No, no, I'm not suggesting we get a puppy, I know your feelings on that and I share them."

Much like a child raises their hand to be called on in school, Charles pointed a finger, but without extending his arm. Elsie paused so he could ask his question. Several questions, it turned out.

"Why hasn't the car that brought you here left? Are you going back to house? Why couldn't this discussion wait until dinner time?"

Elsie saw he was worried, and wanted to set his mind at rest. "Just a moment." She smiled warmly at him as she rose and went to the front door. Opening it, she spoke to those waiting outside. "Why don't you all just come on in."

Tom Branson stepped in first, and looked at Elsie to gauge the mood. She nodded, then shrugged, a mixed message if ever there was one.

Elsie took a deep breath and smiled nervously, saying, "Go on, then."

Carson, for his part, seemed torn between confusion and annoyance. What was going on?

Tom held the door open for Henry, who looked behind himself briefly then crossed the threshold. The young men's twin hopeful grins eased some of the tension both Carsons were feeling. Henry spoke into the suspenseful silence, "Mr Carson, we have someone we'd like you to meet."

TBC

* * *

 **And that's as cliff hangery as I'm likely to get!**

 *** "the Glorious Twelfth" is August 12th, the start of the red grouse shooting season in Downtonland**

 **** "dinna fash yersel" means "don't get worked up/worried"**

 ***** "daft ha'po'rth" roughly means "silly old booby"**

 **I've struggled all through writing this fic about how and when to refer to people by their different names/titles, particularly since I've been mixing upstairs/downstairs a lot, eg Mrs Hughes/Mrs Carson/Elsie or Lord Grantham/the Earl/Robert. I've tried to fit the names used to the occasion and speaker, and hope it has worked OK.**

 **I'm hoping/planning to post chapter 8, the final chapter, next weekend. It's partly written but I'm a slow writer and have work deadlines to contend with this week. If you have a moment, please do tell me what you think about this chapter, the whole story, the puppies' names, whatever. Short or long, reviews encourage me in my writing. The fact that someone enjoyed what I wrote and/or is interested to know what happens, and took the time to tell me so, is a real boost to me. Here endeth the blatant plea for reviews.**

 **I would be very remiss if I didn't thank here those who have already reviewed this fic, some very faithfully: you know who you are. I'm very grateful. The dowager countess would frown on my sentiments becoming maudlin, so I'll leave it there.**


	8. Chapter 8

**In this chapter: Tom Branson, Charles Carson, Elsie Hughes/Carson and Henry Talbot. Much Chelsieness.**

 **a/n: Thank you bunches to those who've reviewed, including suzie and Teresagreen whom I couldn't thank via PM. Herein Carson channels Ingrid Bergman, inspired by mistressdickens' Downton Canon prompt challenge on tumblr—full quote at the end.**

 **In case you forgot, chapter 8 ended like so:**

 ** _Tom held the door open for Henry, who looked behind himself briefly then crossed the threshold. The young men's twin hopeful grins eased some of the tension both Carsons were feeling. Henry spoke into the suspenseful silence, "Mr Carson, we have someone we'd like you to meet."_**

* * *

Tuesday, 27th April 1926

Henry entered, and Carson immediately saw the leash in his right hand. A black dog cautiously followed Henry in, then sat quietly as he pulled the door closed behind them.

Glances flashed between Tom, Henry and Elsie, then they were all drawn to watch Carson. His eyes fixed on the dog as he approached slowly, then carefully crouched down to lessen his sizable bulk. Not as agile as he used to be, Carson put his left hand on the floor as a counter balance.

He reached his right hand out for the dog to sniff, then started gently patting the black head. The dog first leaned into his hand, then shuffled closer, resting her furry muzzle on his right knee.

"I heard from Miss Sybbie that Blackie took after the puppies' mother, but it's quite remarkable. White on the right front paw, just like him. This," Charlie stroked the velvety head, "has to be their mother, unless …" His voice petered out as he peered up at Tom and Henry.

"Mr Botham, the landlord of our local in York, has been keeping an eye out for her, even though we all feared the worst." Henry smiled as he spoke, relief brightening his face.

"I heard she'd turned up, but I don't know the details," Elsie was thrilled to see her husband's reaction to the dog—not exactly surprised, but thrilled nonetheless.

"Best we can work it out, she got hit by a speeding vehicle, but luckily only a glancing blow. We think after that she hunkered down, as they might say in Boston, in some place of shelter," Tom recounted. "Once she felt a bit better, she made her way back to the Rose and Crown. Ian, that's Ian Botham, the landlord I mean, found her waiting outside the gate to the yard when he opened it this morning."

Henry took up the story. "She's limping on her left rear leg, she has some grazing and we imagine bruising there, but she's bearing weight on it so we're hopeful it's not broken. She was hungry, but she's eaten well today."

Carson stood up, wondering if the others could hear his joints creaking as he rose, and went to sit on a chair by the dining table. The dog followed, as if he were a magnet pulling her in, and stood directly in front of him. He bent over to inspect her, and as he passed his hand over the dog's left hip and leg, she visibly tensed. He must have touched a tender spot. Carson withdrew his hand, and looked up at the others. "I think, or at least hope, she's on the mend, but could we ask Mr Stapley to have a look at her?"

"Absolutely. As you know, Lord Grantham has him on a retainer for any animal issues." Tom Branson was already planning to do that the next day.

Carson looked down at the dog, who was gazing up at him with big brown eyes, so like those of her puppies. Moved by her trust, he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. How did she know he was trustworthy? He was turning to talk to Elsie when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dog raising her right paw, the one with the tiny white sock.

He took it gently in his hand and shook it as in greeting. "Hullo, my dear. It's so very good to meet you." Carson smiled gently as he said, "Your children do you credit."

Tom stepped closer, enchanted by the scene. "At the pub, they called her 'Lassie'," he volunteered.

To everyone's surprise, including his own, Charlie Carson burst out laughing. Answering the curious looks, he explained, "Dr Clarkson has named her son, the one who looks just like her, 'Laddie'." He shook his head, still laughing. "Kismet."

"She's a fast learner," said Henry eagerly. "I took charge of her this morning, and I taught her to shake hands, ah, paws, well … to shake like that."

Tom raised his eyebrows, grinning broadly at Henry.

Henry, a touch defensive, said, "Tuesdays are often rather quiet—"

Elsie went to stand beside her husband. She crouched down, one hand on Charles's thigh and the other extended towards the dog. Lassie sniffed then nuzzled Elsie's hand.

"It's uncanny how alike she and wee Blackie, now Laddie, are," said Elsie. "Especially when the other two puppies are so different." Lassie moved closer, leaning her head into Elsie's touch, and her tail started beating against the table leg.

Carson's fond regard was focused on his wife, who was gently stroking the friendly, fortunate dog. Grinning, Henry looked at Tom, who nodded silently, his satisfaction clear.

Elsie collected herself, rose from her crouching position, and became all business. She went into housekeeper mode, talking directly to the dog as she arranged her thoughts. "So, Lassie, you'll be staying here for the meantime. We already have a bed you can use. It will smell familiar because your three puppies used it, and should be cozy but not too cramped. Let me get you a bowl of water. And we still have puppy food—that will help you gain your weight back."

Tom and Henry exchanged smiles as Elsie bustled to organize food and water, and put it in the scullery. She had Lassie follow her in and showed the provisions to the dog. Lassie had a drink and then stuck close to Elsie's side as they went back to join the others.

"She'll need to stay in the scullery overnight. Since she's a stray she won't be house trained." Elsie stifled a sigh. She knew Charlie had been looking forward to not having to clean up after the puppies, but they were hardly going to turn the pups' mother away.

"I think—" Henry started, then stopped.

"So you think, do you? Do you think something, or was that just a general announcement?" Tom's tease earned a quiet snort from Elsie, and Henry rolled his eyes.

Henry sighed. "What I was trying to say, is that I think she may be house trained. But obviously I'm not sure."

He went on to explain. "I had her at the business for most of the day—Botham brought her over to me as soon as he discovered her—of course he was right in thinking we'd be willing to take her since we took her pups. Sometime in the afternoon, she came over to me—I was actually talking to a potential customer at the time." Here Henry looked pointedly at Tom, who simply smiled back. "She looked up at me, whined quietly, and walked to the back door, the one into the yard. The gate out to the alley was closed, so it was safe to let her out. So I did, and a few moments later I saw her face looking through the side window. I opened the door, she came back in, and went back to the bed I'd made for her from a car blanket."

"Perhaps she once had a home, had people who cared for her, and learned how to live inside …" Elsie looked down at the slender black dog with a touch of white on her paw. "Well, we can never know her past, but we can help shape her future."

"Gentlemen, as you'll have gathered, we're happy to look after her overnight, and then we'll see what Mr Stapley says tomorrow."

"Right you are, Mr Carson," said Tom. "If I call by around nine o'clock, will that be too early?"

"Nine will be fine, thank you, Mr Branson."

§ § § § § § § § §

After the younger men headed back to the big house, Lassie got properly introduced to her temporary home. Carson took her into the back garden and watched her carefully as she wandered around sniffing and inspecting all the plants, then rolling on the lawn. She was definitely walking gingerly on the left hind leg, but she was using it, just as Messrs Branson and Talbot had said.

Later that evening, after the Carsons had dined well on the stew, Lassie made a definite request to go outside, so Elsie supervised her while Charlie finished drying the dishes.

As the girls—that's how Carson was thinking of them—came back into the cottage, Elsie was smiling. "It does look like Mr Talbot was right, doesn't it? Still, we'll keep her in the scullery overnight, her first night in a strange place."

Carson nodded absently and murmured, "Yes, that'll make it easier to find her a home." He was trying to remember what he'd been meaning to ask Elsie.

Elsie looked sharply at her husband, squinting her eyes in a quick frown. He was carefully drying the stew pot, resting it on the edge of the sink so he didn't have to hold all its weight, and oblivious to her concern.

"Oh, thank goodness! I've finally remembered what I wanted to ask you!" Triumphant, Charles turned to Elsie and asked, "What was it you wanted to talk to me about, when you came home?"

She looked at him carefully, at first incredulous that he hadn't caught the drift of the interrupted conversation. Then Elsie recalled how worried he'd been that something was wrong with her and realized his mind had been on a completely different track. He was finished with the pot, she saw, so she went to sit on the chesterfield and gestured for him to join her there. She took his left hand in hers as he sat down.

"The thing is," said Elsie, "I've been thinking for a wee while that maybe we could get a dog. Not a puppy, we're agreed on that, but an adult dog." Charlie raised his magnificent eyebrows and waited for her to continue. "I hadn't got around to raising the idea before the puppies arrived. You see, I didn't know how keen you'd be, so I was thinking perhaps I should wait until August, once I've retired and would have time to care for a dog. I thought we'd have time to talk about it, to think …" She worried her lower lip with her teeth, suddenly wondering if the whole idea was ridiculous.

"You never fail to surprise and delight me, my darling Elsie." Charlie turned towards her, taking both her small, capable hands in his big warm ones. "I simply have never thought about having a dog of my own, because it wasn't possible while in service. It wasn't an option, so I never entertained the notion." He smiled ruefully. "I suppose I haven't got out of that mindset yet. But you have. How is that?"

"Maybe it's that you were rushed into retirement and I'm very lucky to be able to plan mine. Then again," she added mischievously, "no one's ever accused you of being a flexible thinker." Elsie squeezed his hand to soften the words.

Carson pouted pensively, but he knew she was right.

"You see, Charlie, I've always had hopes and dreams. For a long time I thought that dreams were all they could ever be, but even so, they kept me going in dark times, dreaming of better days. However, it turns out that sometimes dreams do come true." She reached over to kiss him, then caressed the side of his craggy face.

"They do? They did?"

"Of course they did. We're married! Even though I'm still a housekeeper, I'm married, married to you! Can't you see how fantastical that idea seemed even two years ago?"

"You're right, of course. It seems you always are ..." his voice drifted off.

"Can I quote you on that?" Elsie teased. "Maybe I should write it down in my diary, for posterity's sake." She paused, and stopped teasing. Her next words were steeped with sincerity. "I can only retire because of you, because you married me, Charlie. I owe—"

"You owe me nothing. We're finally together, as we are meant to be." Charles needed no words of indebtedness or gratitude from his Elsie: he knew he was the luckiest man. As he leaned forward to silence Elsie by capturing her lips, he reflected on the lovely trick of the kiss: designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.*

§ § § § § § § § §

That kiss, and the ensuing intimacies, distracted both Carsons very effectively for some time, but eventually they came back to earth and got ready for bed. Ablutions were performed in the bathroom, downstairs, then—as had become their habit of recent times—both visited the scullery before climbing the narrow staircase to their bedroom.

This evening, Lassie was curled up in her puppies' former bed, water and food bowls nearby in case of overnight pangs of thirst or hunger. Although she undoubtedly had some discomfort from her injury, she appeared to be happily ensconced in the big basket. She enjoyed their attention and then snuggled down, ready for sleep.

Bidding goodnight to Lassie, Charles and Elsie headed up. As they shed dressing gowns and slippers and each climbed into their own side of the bed, Charles finally got back to their earlier conversation. "So … you like the idea of having a dog." He left that floating and Elsie deftly plucked it out of the air and drew it in close to her breast.

"I do. As do you." Elsie smiled smugly as she stared at the ceiling. Charlie stayed silent, but she could feel him nodding in agreement. She ventured some more words. "So … Lassie. She's here, she needs a home. It's sooner than I'd been thinking of, but I've never claimed to predict the future …"

"She's very sweet, and she could do with a stroke of good luck." Charles turned to snuggle against his wife's side. "We can give her that; we can give her a home."

Elsie's heart filled with joy. She would have dragged him to the right conclusion if necessary, but instead he had got there willingly, without any prodding.

Then he spoke again. "I'd have house-trained her if I had to," he paused to yawn enormously, "but it's nice not to have to." In almost the next breath, he fell asleep, and his deep slow breathing was soporific. Elsie nestled her head in below Charlie's chin, and relaxed into peaceful slumber.

TBC

* * *

 **Author notes**

 ***actual quote: "A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous." Many thanks to mistressdickens for the prompt.**

 **I expect the reveal wasn't much of a surprise, given the general tenor of this story, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. I originally said there'd be eight chapters, but what do I know?! I'm aiming to get chapter 9, the final chapter, up next weekend.**


	9. Chapter 9

**In this chapter: Thomas Barrow, Tom Branson, Sybbie Branson, Carson, Elsie Hughes/Carson, George Crawley, Dickie Grey,** **Isobel Grey, Beryl Patmore and Nanny. Much Chelsieness.**

* * *

Wednesday, 28th April 1926

"So, Nanny, as arranged we'll take them out for an hour, and have them back in good time for luncheon. We'll be fine by ourselves, we don't need you or a maid to come with us."

"Very good, Lady Merton." Nanny Watkins wasn't as certain as Lady Merton that they didn't need staff to accompany them, but Nanny knew the Baroness had trained as a nurse and disagreeing with the heir's grandmother struck her as an unwise move for someone interested in continuing her employment with the family. "If you're sure then."

She then addressed her charges directly. "Now Master George and Miss Sybbie, you be good for your grandmama and auntie." She looked first at the little boy, then the little girl, as she instructed them. "Mind that you do what she tells you." The two nodded excitedly. They were all going out for a walk by the beck* with Dr Clarkson's new puppy, and the children were more than ready to start.

"Barrow, would you be able to arrange for the car to be parked by the garages?" asked Lord Merton. "The key's in there. I don't imagine Lady Grantham likes cars left higgledy piggledy in front of the house. I'm afraid I didn't think. I do love driving myself, but part of me still seems to think I have a chauffeur to park the car!"

"That's fine, Lord Merton," replied Barrow. "I can shift it." Truth be told, he would enjoy driving the Baron's Bentley. He didn't often get an opportunity to drive, but he could, and the Bentley was a chance he wouldn't pass up. Thomas would drive it with the utmost care.

Lord Merton doubled over to get closer to the children's level, and with excitement in eyes and voice, said, "Laddie's all set. Are you?" A mini chorus of "yes, Uncle Dickie!" confirmed their enthusiasm.

§ § § § § § § § §

"Mr Branson, may I ask that you drop us off at the Abbey instead of going back to the cottage?"

"Certainly, Mr Carson." Tom smiled, all the while keeping his eyes on the road. "Mr Stapley's diagnosis is reassuring, is it not?"

"Indeed." Carson was both relieved and very pleased. The veterinarian had determined that Lassie wasn't terribly injured, and was well on the mend, as Carson had hoped. "I'm keen to tell Mrs Carson as soon as possible, and Mr Stapley did say that short walks would help reduce Lassie's stiffness, so I thought the brief walk back to our cottage from the Abbey would be a good start."

The subject of their conversation was taking a nap, luxuriating on a blanket in the back seat of Tom's car. Lassie seemed to be very adaptable, thought Carson, taking all sorts of new experiences in her stride. Perhaps he could learn from her.

"Mr Carson, I want to say how pleased I am you're adopting Lassie. She's a very lucky dog. And thank you again for taking on the puppies."

"Please, don't thank me!" Carson shook his head, although Tom didn't see it. "You and I both know it's down to Mrs Carson. Apparently I'm powerless to resist her when she's fixed on a plan!"

"Your wife is a strong and determined woman, I'll grant you. Still, you did a marvellous job with them and I thank you. I know Henry, ah, Mr Talbot, does too." Tom corrected to the more formal appellation since he knew how Carson liked to observe the niceties of address. They had this unspoken agreement, he and Charles Carson. Mr Carson insisted on calling him Mr Branson to recognize his position in the family—he was no longer "Branson", without title, the chauffeur. Tom, for his part, was equally adamant that he would continue to refer to the former butler as he had when he was the Crawleys' driver. He knew this was a way he could show his respect for the man which the man himself would appreciate. Even if it wasn't strictly appropriate. All this, when in his heart Tom felt all this business of titles, proper forms of address and such was really quite ridiculous—however, he recognized that it mattered to others; it was part of the fabric of their lives. He was no longer the hot-headed revolutionary of his youth, and knew it was wise to pick his battles.

They had arrived at the garages now. As Tom turned off the engine, he looked towards his human passenger. Seeing this, Carson said, "Thank you for arranging the vetting, and … for involving us in all of this …" His voice drifted off for a moment before he collected himself. "You say Lassie's a lucky dog." Carson paused here, but didn't quite succeed in masking his emotion—his voice shook a little as he said, "I think we're the lucky ones."

§ § § § § § § § §

A light breeze ruffled the beck's grassy banks as the puppy walkers made their slow progress beside the babbling water. The children darted forward and back while the adults strolled more sedately, watching with amusement as Laddie eagerly explored, as far as his leash would allow. Though the day was dull, clouds covering the sun, the scene was bright with sun-yellow daffodils, purplish blue hyacinths and rainbow-hued tulips, nature's beauty ably assisted by the estate's gardeners. The trees bordering the banks were all budding or coming into leaf, fresh green softening the stark grey brown branches: ash and alder, downy birch and goat willow, to name a few.

As the beck, and the happy group of people plus puppy, meandered around a bend, Sybbie saw the little stone bridge ahead and cried, "Let's play the stick game!" **

Immediately she and George started looking for suitable twigs, and they were thrilled to find that Laddie liked carrying them in his mouth.

"That's enough sticks now, you two." Isobel halted the collection because the puppy's enthusiasm was larger than his mouth and the children had already gathered more than enough twigs. "Why don't you run along to the bridge and wait for us there?" Isobel smiled benevolently as she watched Sybbie and George dash ahead, then looked up to see Dickie beaming at her.

Curious, she asked, "What on earth is it?"

Dickie spread his arms wide as if to encompass the world. "I was just thinking about how sweet it is," he said, "to find love later in life."

Isobel raised her eyebrows and smiled encouragingly, but didn't speak. Dickie was more open and demonstrative than most men of his age and position, but still it was rare for him to speak of love. She didn't want to break the spell.

He reached for her hand and drew it close to his heart, checked where the children were, then continued, "I've never been so happy. The funny thing is, it seems so simple, really. I have a wife whom I love dearly, who loves me." Dickie paused to kiss Isobel's upturned, smiling lips. "I also have enchanting quasi grandchildren, and even an adorable part-time puppy." He raised his eyes, bright with delight, heavenwards and said, "It doesn't get better than this. I am so fortunate a man, I'm nearly bursting!" He softly squeezed Isobel's hand, raised it to his lips for a kiss, then let it go and started running to the bridge.

Isobel clasped the kissed hand to her lips, eyes dancing with joy as she watched her husband release his inner child. Laddie bounded gleefully beside him; soon they joined the children and the game started. George and Sybbie carefully selected twigs from Laddie's mouth stash then dropped them, on Uncle Dickie's command, on the upstream side of the bridge.

Seeing Dickie had the situation under control, Isobel dawdled. She, too, realized how lucky she was, and wanted to savour the feeling. When she reached the bridge, Dickie was ably refereeing the competition. "So it's two–two, this is the decider!"

§ § § § § § § § §

"Well, I'm very pleased to hear that news." Elsie reached down to scratch Lassie's head, even as she and Charlie exchanged relieved looks.

The news of the presence of the puppies' mother in the housekeeper's sitting room had spread like the Great Fire of London through the servant grapevine, and all available staff had stopped by to meet her. The Labrador mix delighted in the attention, handling the interest and sometimes raised voices with aplomb.

Mrs Patmore met Lassie, then had to return to overseeing lunch preparations in the kitchen, all the while planning a visit for the mother dog to see her patchy daughter again soon. Daisy had everything well in hand, it was clear, so the cook took a moment to contemplate, then headed for the refrigerator. She still wasn't completely comfortable with all these newfangled devices her ladyship kept introducing, but she would now—if pressed—admit to the utility of the "fridge." There was some leftover chicken in there she'd been wondering how to use.

Mr Barrow had just been to see the Carsons and to welcome their new charge, before going to check the dining table was set correctly for the upcoming meal. Carson was getting ready to leave, when they heard, "Lassie, come here!" The dog's ears pricked in apparent recognition and Carson shrugged as he rose and led the way to the kitchen, the source of the voice. He and Elsie stood back as their dog tentatively approached Mrs Patmore.

The plump and cheery cook was standing near her desk, left hand on her hip and the other holding what looked very like sliced chicken. She extended her right arm towards Lassie, who sat down in front of the cook, eyes intent on the special treat. The dog then looked up at her new master, who put his hand to his mouth in astonishment. After a moment, and a nudge from his wife, a bewildered Carson said, "Yes, Lassie." She edged closer to Mrs Patmore and caught the chicken in her mouth as the cook dropped it for her.

"I can see that Tio's going to have some competition for kitchen scraps, Mrs Patmore," remarked a laughing Elsie. Meanwhile, her husband looked at their dog with an expression that combined fondness and astonishment.

§ § § § § § § § §

"Isobel, why don't Laddie and I go and get the car while you take the children back to Nanny?" They were walking up the long gravel path towards the house, or at least the people were. Laddie preferred the softer and infinitely more interesting grass at the side of the drive. "We'll meet you out front with the car."

The couple, along with Dr Clarkson, were expected at the dower house for lunch, so they didn't want to dally, and Isobel readily agreed.

Thus, while Lady Merton accompanied George and Sybbie back through the front door, her husband and the black Lab puppy went around to the side of the enormous house. As they turned the corner they walked first through the cobblestoned kitchen courtyard, where the servants' entrance was. The garages—actually converted stables—were just beyond. Dickie could see his car had been parked safely out of harm's way by Barrow, and was heading towards it when the back door opened.

"Carson, good … oh my goodness, is it really?!" Lord Merton felt the puppy tug hard on his leash, and let it go, watching with amazement as Laddie raced over to an adult dog, a female, the spitting image of himself. The pup leaped up to touch muzzles with his mother then bounced around joyfully as she attempted to smell and lick him, whining with excitement. The Carsons and Lord Merton stood back and observed the touching reunion in silent glee.

Carson was relating the story of Lassie's arrival when Lady Merton appeared in the courtyard, accompanied by Mr Barrow. They'd come to see what was detaining Lord Merton, and arrived in time to hear him say, "Crikey, what a turn up!"

§ § § § § § § § §

Once the Mertons had driven off, Mr Barrow went back inside the Abbey, closing the back door behind him, and Elsie watched from the courtyard gate as Charlie started walking back to the cottage. Her normally stern professional countenance was softened by a gentling smile and love lighted her eyes. His stride was typically wide and deliberate, although a little slower than usual in deference to Lassie's bruising. The dog was on his left side and the leash hung loosely between them. She already knew how to walk at heel, thought Elsie.

All of a sudden she started running—hurrying really, her long skirt and corset didn't permit great speed—after her husband. She called as soon as she was close enough, "Charlie, wait!"

Carson stopped immediately and turned to look at Elsie. He then started back towards her, more briskly than he'd been departing, concern creasing his face. After checking to see that Lassie could keep up, he raised his eyes to see his wife waving her hand in a calming motion, and slackened his pace once more. Elsie smiled and patted the air again to assure him he needn't worry as she walked now to help close the gap.

Once they were in talking distance, Elsie said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." She giggled, a touch embarrassed at the commotion she'd caused.

"So, there's not a problem, but something you want urgently to tell me?"

Charlie was frequently more patient with her than she deserved, Elsie thought, but it was one of the many reasons she loved him. "I feel a wee bit silly now."

Her sheepish grin and blush-tinted cheeks made his heart skip. He narrowed his eyes, trying to look severe but failing miserably—a spark of humour glinted beneath his prodigious brows.

Resting a hand on his shoulder, Elsie went on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then she decided to just come out with it. "I thought I would finish _before_ lunch today, so I could walk home with you two now."

Charlie made a good show of considering that scandalous suggestion, then said, "Surely you're not considering shirking your duties, Mrs Hughes?"

"No, I certainly am not, Mr Carson." Elsie responded in the same spirit. "Indeed, it's my duties I'm thinking of," she countered pertly, "specifically my duty to ensure Miss Baxter is fully prepared to take over as housekeeper when the time comes."

"And how is this helping her?" asked Carson, playing along.

"By giving her an unexpected event to deal with." She fixed her amused blue eyes upon him, and continued. "As you know, senior staff must always expect the unexpected."

Charles Carson understood very well the importance of following the correct protocols in every situation. It had been his life's work, after all. "Am I to understand, then, that your decision to leave early is not on a whim, but rather is a result of your concern for Miss Baxter's training?"

"Indeed it is." Elsie pursed her lips, trying to conceal her smile. Then in a flash, she gave up her pretence and relaxed. "Och, the truth is, I had a sudden, inescapable urge to walk home with you and Lassie. It'll be our first walk home together: I want to be part of it."

Charlie's voice always deepened with emotion and now it was positively gravelly. "What a lovely sentiment." He stopped to clear his throat and then continued. "We—Lassie and I—will amuse ourselves by visiting the stables … I suspect she'll do fine with the horses but we may as well see … and then when you're ready we shall walk home together."

§ § § § § § § § §

Charles Carson offered his right elbow and happily tucked his wife's gloved hand into the crook of his arm. He then handed Lassie's leash to Elsie who, after a moment's surprise, smiled warmly and shepherded the dog around to her right side. The sun peeked through a gap in the clouds as the three proceeded down the driveway, gravel crunching softly beneath their feet. Every so often Lassie looked up, to check her people were safe, as the Carson family headed home.

THE END

 _… but there will, in due course, be an epilogue._

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 *** "Beck" is a northern English word (possibly from old Norse) for stream, brook or creek.**

 **** The game that Tom Branson played with Sybbie on the bridge in season/series 5, episode 7** **became known as "poohsticks" after A.A. Milne wrote of it in _The House at Pooh Corner_ (1928)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/n: So this is it, the end of my fluffy puppy fic. Sorry if I dragged it out too long; at least the epilogue is brief. Thanks to everyone who gave this fic and its unknown author a chance; particular thank yous to those who have taken the time to leave reviews, some very faithfully.**

 **PS If you want to know why I chose to feature canines so heavily in this my first (only?) DA fic, check out my tumblr (I don't want the a/n to be longer than the epilogue).**

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Epilogue

And so it came to pass, that two of the Rose and Crown puppies and their mother started their new lives on the Downton Abbey estate.

The inhabitants of Downton village, as well as those living and working in the big house and on the land, became accustomed to seeing two friendly black dogs out walking in the village streets, along the country lanes and over the estate grounds.

Their human companions varied depending on the time and the day, but as often as possible there were three men: one of tall and substantial build, one slightly taller and rather stork-like, and the last a more compact figure. Many times they were joined by a little girl with brown hair, a little blond boy and another tall man, this one with a yellow dog. Two women were also frequently seen walking with one or both of the black dogs. On Sundays, the dog walking group was usually at its largest.

Members of the group regularly visited the Downton pig farm, where the resident canine welcomed them cheerily, as did the human inhabitants. The tri-colored dog would prance happily around the farmyard with her brother, and their mother sometimes joined in. However, the farm dog preferred staying with the pigs and her master to going on country walks with the others.

About once a month, the mother dog would be seen walking unaccompanied to the big house. Each time she visited the cooks, then returned home again solo, with a meaty bone carefully wrapped and tied to her collar. One of her people would untie the parcel and, once she was sitting in the special spot in the scullery, she got her reward.

Her lookalike son, all black except for the snowy sock on his right front paw, became particularly well known in the village. He started to act as a greeter at the cottage hospital, his friendly approach soothing the nerves of worried visitors, and even accompanied the doctor on some of his house calls.

The redhead puppy went to live in London and surprised everyone by growing into a well-behaved dog. He doted on his mistress, and she on him. They walked daily in London's great parks—or rather the lady walked and threw balls that the dog chased after with great gusto, and nearly always brought back to her.

The London pair made a habit in travelling back often to Yorkshire, where people and pups alike behaved as if they'd never been apart.


End file.
